Seam Girl's Saga
by LawrenceDaddarioWatsonStewart
Summary: I promised you all I would give you a teaser and here it is! Here's the premise: Through an old tradition, Katniss Everdeen is forced into a marriage with the one person who has saved her life. When an opportunity to annul the marriage comes her way, will she take it? And that is only part of the story! Review & ask questions! I will try to update ASAP, but it may be a while.
1. Part I: Origins, Chapter 1: Donors

**Part I: Origins**

 **Chapter 1: Donors**

Estes Everdeen hurried over to the bar in the Hob of District 12 one stormy autumn night. Taking a stool at the counter, he flicked a couple of coins down in front of Ripper, the bartender. The old woman eyed him with concern, but presented him with his drink.

"Are you feeling all right, Estes? You've never been the type for booze."

Estes waved her concern away. "Just leave the bottle."

The next few minutes were spent with the young miner anxiously tapping his feet on the stool, glancing at the battered watch that had been a wedding gift from his now deceased mother, God rest her soul. It was old, but still kept remarkably reliable time - a heaven-sent gift especially in the mines, as he waited for quitting time so he could return to his wife and let her know he had survived another day.

His wife. Poor Lillian. Lillian, whom he had left just now crying at their kitchen table, a slip of paper in her hand with a big 'minus' sign on it. Uncolored - indicative of a reality they had been anticipating for years, but had still maddeningly failed to appear.

A scuffling of chair legs snapped Estes out of his thoughts. His guest had arrived, looking out of breath.

"Hey, Cotton," he greeted Cotton Hawthorne - his fellow miner and best friend.

"I came as quickly as I could when Hazelle arrived home and told me," Cotton panted. "What's happening, old friend?"

"Nothing... much..." Estes's lip trembled, and before he could contain himself, he broke down in tears. Cotton pulled him into a hug.

"There, there... pull yourself together! People are staring."

Estes wiped his nose noisily on his sleeve, gesturing to the almost full bottle of whiskey. "Pour yourself a round? I got loads to tell you."

Before long, both men were somewhat buzzed.

"Poor Lillian. How many times have you tried - three?"

"Four," Estes huffed gloomily.

"I can't understand it. She'd make an excellent mother! And Hazelle and I have never had any trouble." Cotton bit his tongue, not wanting his friend to take that last part of his comment the wrong way. Hazelle was expecting their fourth child, due sometime the following spring.

"It's not Lillian's fault, buddy. It's me. I'm infertile - have to be."

Cotton seized Estes's shoulder. " _Don't_ ," he hissed. "Don't you _dare_ put yourself down, Estes Everdeen. You're more of a man than anyone I've ever met."

"Oh, yeah? Then answer me this: why have I failed for five _goddamn_ years to get the love of my life, the light of my love, pregnant with a baby?"

"We don't know if it's you, or if it's Lillian. Maybe it's neither. Maybe it's just a run of bad luck, is all."

"Yeah, and I sure as hell know who has all the luck! You and Hazelle are popping out babies like their loaves of bread!"

Cotton eyed his friend warily. "Don't look at me like that! Whatever you need to say, say it! Don't matter if you're drunk or not!"

"That's not what I'm implying at all! I'm not envious of you..." Estes thought for a moment. "In fact, I bet you could help me - help me and Lillian..."

Cotton's eyes widened even more and he leaned further away from young Everdeen. "Estes... I don't like where this is going..."

"Well, it's going there, you unimaginative son-of-a-bitch! Let's just think about it for a moment, shall we? Let's just think about it for a second!: if you have gotten Hazelle pregnant with healthy babies every year for the last four years, you obviously have something I don't. Some kind of, I don't know... touch..."

"Estes, this is sexual intercourse, not a magic trick! I don't think you realize that you're proposing I sleep with your _wife_! Get her pregnant!"

"I didn't say that!"

"Maybe not, but you all but implied it - it's written all over your face!" Cotton faced Estes, his gaze hard. "Estes: we're friends, buddies - Hazelle and I would do anything for you! We stood by you and Lillian's marriage when no one else would. But to betray my wife in the uncertain hope that I might provide a child where you can't... that's... that's something I cannot do. I can't do that to Hazelle - and, no, even if I talked to her about it, I don't think she would understand!" He raised up a hand to silence an impending protest on Estes's lips.

"But maybe Hazelle _would_ understand! If it would help Lillian and I start a family... maybe it wouldn't be a betrayal." Estes folded his hands in a silent plea. "Cotton, I am _begging_ you: just talk to her."

Cotton sighed. He did not want to betray his marriage vows, but if it helped out his best friends get the child they had always wanted... "All right, I will talk to Hazelle. But I can't promise she'll say yes."

Estes smiled, and Cotton returned it before holding out a hand. "Come on, I'll take you home."

As the two men staggered out of the Hob, a figure at the far end of the bar, cloaked in shadow, observed their departure. Like a fugitive Jedi from the fantasy stories of old, the most legendary person in all of District 12 stroked his chin in thought, pondering what he had just overheard.


	2. Chapter 2: Sins of the Father

**Chapter 2: Sins of the Father**

That very same night, Lillian Everdeen hurried up to the imposing black, gothic gates of the Victors' Village. Storm clouds were gathering overhead; if she hurried, maybe she could drop off this important delivery and beat the rain home.

She had never been to Victors' Village before. Unlike the other Districts, Twelve's was extremely unimpressive. Besides being overgrown with weeds, there were 12 homes. For the last, oh, half a decade, one had lain abandoned. Ten more stood empty. And in the other sat someone who - for that last eight years - had shut himself up here like a hermit, a damned soul in exile. By now, parents would tell their older, braver children stories around Halloween of the ghost who haunted this hillside. It would make for a good ghost story - if only the ghost weren't still living.

Lillian rapped on the door with a shaking hand. After a moment, a young man of 23 - her same age - answered the door. As always, Haymitch Abernathy was unkempt. Scraggly scruff at least four days old clung to his chin like brown barnacles. It would be more off-putting, if his hair of the same color wasn't already receding prematurely - could someone so young really go bald? Lillian didn't know. But if she had to guess, the hair loss was not due to some rare genetic condition, and more due to the horrors of an arena her former classmate had witnessed and lived to tell about - one of only two people in District 12 history to accomplish this feat. Winning that sick death match known as the Hunger Games. And in his case, against double the odds. So many deaths in that Quarter Quell, including her friend Maysilee Donner... so many...

"Hi, Lillian," Haymitch gave his best crack at a smile, yet there was still sadness in it; in his eyes, too. "Come on in."

Brushing her long blond hair out of her face, the young former Merchant followed the Seam folk hero inside. His mansion was _huge_ \- wider than several miners' homes lined up end-to-end. Such a pity that it lay in this kind of disarray. Bottles and crumpled bits of old newspapers with Capitol labels and headlines littered the floor. She wondered if Haymitch was some kind of hoarder, or just plain lazy. Either way, she could find no way to blame him - not as she watched him half-fall into a chair and clutch at a near-empty bottle of liquor the way someone might cling to a -

All at once, Lillian could feel the tears coming, and she squeezed her eyes shut to fight against them. _Don't think the word, don't think the word..._ But too late.

Baby. Haymitch clung to that bottle the way he might cling to a baby. The way _she_ wanted to cling to a baby - _her_ baby...

No, she refused to cry in front of Haymitch Abernathy, Victor of the 50th Annual Hunger Games. But apparently, even in his drunken stupor, he'd already noticed.

"Awww, don't cry, sweetheart..." Then: "Is this because your flop of a husband can't get you knocked up?"

She needed to leave. If her frayed emotions didn't necessarily demand it, Haymitch's brazen lack of tact and all-out rudeness damn sure did. Trying to conjure righteous anger where only sadness now reigned supreme, Lillian turned on her heel to depart.

"Wait, don't go - I'm... I'm sorry."

Lillian froze. She had never expected Haymitch to apologize to someone like _her_. Sure, the old Haymitch, the classmate she had sat besides, might have, in another lifetime. He had mostly been a loner even then; she sometimes wondered if she had been his only friend. At least he would talk to her, albeit stiltedly, whenever she had tried to initiate conversation. But the _new_ Haymitch - the one that had emerged from a hell in which 47 other condemned souls had perished... skills like self-awareness and humility had also died in that arena. Died with a part of him, along with his slain competition. Perhaps not out of arrogance at achieving the status of legend among his people, no, just... brokenness. Resignation. The desire to no longer care.

"How do you know?" The words came out before she could stop them.

"Tonight at the bar. Old Estes sure doesn't know how to hold his liquor - or keep his voice down. He was crying in his beer all night over it with Cotton Hawthorne." And then, even more stunning than his uncharacteristic apology:

"Poor guy. Always did like him. He must love you very much, to try and recruit his best friend to sleep with you just to give you a child." His voice was quiet.

She nearly gasped. Drunk as he was, she instinctively knew Haymitch spoke the truth. Even when not all there, he could still be very observant - she had noticed that when he was in the arena. It was part of the reason he won. Were those _really_ the lengths her husband was going to go to so she could become a mother? Have Cotton sleep with her? Yes, Estes had once tried to bring up the possibility of donors to her, but she had dismissed it out of hand, refusing to believe that there was anything wrong between them and how they made love.

Wiping at her eyes, she turned around and approached the table, taking a seat next to the Victor. She gestured at the nearly empty bottle. "Mind if I have that?"

He pushed it towards her. "Help yourself."

She finished that bottle quickly, and did not refuse the next one that Haymitch seemed to pull out of thin air and uncork. As it is wont to do, the alcohol loosened her speech:

"... Thank God, I have Estes, but..."

Haymitch just sighed. "At least you have _somebody_." Getting up, he staggered into the next room - the living area, where a pull-out couch bed now lay, as unmade as anything else in this extravagant... mansion? Prison? Haunted house? A combination of all three? It certainly seemed like all of those to Lillian; how could Haymitch _stand_ living here?

Watching him curled up in the bed, Lillian sensed how lonely Haymitch was, and that he could use a soulmate. She wondered why he had never married. Then, she remembered - shudderingly - how Peacekeepers had shot his whole family and girlfriend dead in the street out front of her family's apothecary shop. No wonder he had found no new companion; he couldn't, after what he'd lost.

"Would you do something for me; would you mind just... lying here next to me?" She stared at Haymitch lying in the fetal position, his eyes pleading like a small child's. "No... no need to go any further. I know you're..."

Her eyes filled with pity, Lillian climbed into bed next to him. They held each other in the silence of the night. And then they clung to each other, weeping with wracking sobs over imaginings unfulfilled; he over what he had lost, she over what she could not achieve.

For years afterwards, Lillian was not sure just what made her do it. Desperate for comfort, for some human connection, and sorry for Haymitch's lot, she kissed him. She was a married woman, and they were kissing.

And then they were caressing. And then they were tearing at each other's clothes. Lillian assertively pushed Haymitch flat onto his back and straddled him. The booze had clouded her judgement; the thought that she was being unfaithful to her husband never even crossed her mind...

Hours passed like this. Lillian bouncing up and down on Haymitch while giving breathy moans, before he would flip them over and pound into her. How many times each of them came against the other, she lost count...

Later, just before the sky began to gray, Lillian dressed and left the naked, drunken Victor sleeping in his bed. Nearly debilitated from the pounding of her head and the ache between her legs, she barely made it home and into her own bed, the one that she was beginning to realize she had not shared with her still-sleeping husband the night before.

It was amazing that her thrown together fib, about how she had gotten caught in the rain and spent the night at the Hawthornes, was accepted without question the next morning. Indeed, there was some kind of mysterious hope in Estes's eyes.

* * *

It was only a few weeks later that Lillian discovered she was pregnant.

For nine months, she worked harder than she ever had in her life, to make sure the miracle she had been blessed with was born healthy. Didn't matter who had bestowed it...

She did not see _him_ around town in all those months. Even before she was ordered to bedrest, an over-the-moon Estes had pampered her as though she was a fragile doll, his eyes filled with wonder as he would run his hands over her baby bump while she glowingly smiled. Her husband now took over all the errands in town, as well as working himself ragged in the mines. Sometimes, she would catch him talking to himself:

"How did Cotton do it?" he would say. "I'll pay him back a thousand times if it takes the rest of my life!" Incredibly, when they had the Hawthornes over for dinner one night to tell them the news, Cotton did not refute the assumption. And surprisingly, neither did Hazelle. Had Cotton told her about Estes's despondent night at the bar? He must have. And anyway, it didn't matter. His hands were clean of the whole situation. Someone else had gotten to Lillian first. Nobody had to know the truth...

She thought of _him_ , though - her baby's famous father whom she had not seen since the night that they had created her. But had he _heard_ about her pregnancy? Had he connected the dots, and likely descended into a total panic? If he did, he mercifully kept it to himself.

When the day at last came - that morning in early May - she pushed and screamed and screamed and pushed. The agony was all worth it, when she finally got to hold that baby girl sporting the tell-tale grey eyes of the Seam - and, perhaps most strikingly, a crop of choclatey brown hair...

But Cotton had brown hair, too. As she had told herself countless times before, nobody had to know who was _really_ responsible for giving her -

"Katniss. Katniss Sierra Everdeen."


	3. Chapter 3: Friend's Commiseration

**Chapter 3: Friend's Commiseration**

"Don't go, Mommy!" The little three year old pleaded as she clung to her mother's leg. Her full lips - _his_ lips - trembled pleadingly. Lillian gave a trilly laugh.

"Katniss! I need you to stay here for a few minutes. I should be back soon. Lock the door and don't answer it for anyone, OK? Unless it's Daddy coming home from the mines!"

Katniss cautiously smiled. "Listen for the mockingjay's song?"

"That's right! Then you'll know it's either Mommy or Daddy, and you can open the door!"

"OK, Mommy!"

Lillian smiled tenderly. "There's a good girl. I love you!"

And off Lillian went into town. The farther she got away from the Seam, however, the more nervous she became. She never ventured into the Merchant section of Twelve, if she could avoid it, unless she needed to replenish her stock of medicines.

And doing that meant she had to...

She forgot herself; she should have known better than to go to the _front_ door to knock. For when her own father answered, he gave a stare so cold, it was as if he didn't know her. And why wouldn't he act as though he didn't? As far as he was concerned, he didn't _have_ a daughter. The power disownment had over the mind was unimpeachable, indeed. He never even asked about his only granddaughter that Lillian surely knew he was aware of.

"Wait in the back, like the other Seam." That was all he said.

Lillian gave no reply, didn't even call him Father. It was pointless to. As she rounded the back of the Apothecary, to wait for her family to throw her medicines out the door the way they might throw scraps to a stray dog, she was surprised to find a man who was most definitely not Seam standing there already.

A Merchant - who was very familiar...

"Steffan? Steffan Mellark?" she could not help the grin that came over her face at seeing her old childhood friend and playmate.

Steffan broke into a surprised smile. "Lillian!" They shared a cautious hug. Being back in his arms again, Lillian could not help the familiar blush that came over her cheeks - a blush as long-lost as the... _friend_ she now embraced.

"How is the little one? Katniss, right?"

Lillian smiled as her heart filled with love at the thought of her daughter. "My miracle on Earth. My little angel. And yours?"

"All right, but I wouldn't exactly call them 'little angels.' More like 'little devils.'" He grinned self-deprecatingly. "You know how boys are."

Lillian laughed, but it quickly faded as she peered closer at something on Steffan's cheek. "Oh my god... did... did _Paula_ do that to you?" The bruise on his skin was a chillingly dark purple.

Steffan tried to smile her inquiry off, but it was more of a grimace. "This? Oh, it's nothing. She's losing her touch, in fact!"

"This isn't funny, Steffan! She's abusive! You have to report it to the Peacekeepers!"

"And turn in my own wife? Now why would I do that?" Then he answered his own question:

"Because she doesn't love me. She hasn't loved me for years. And I don't think I have loved her, either."

 _And I know why. Because you love me. Or you did._ It was agony to think such a thing, but it had to be thought. She would never forgive herself for how hard she had fallen for the handsome miner with the voice of a songbird... and broken the baker's heart. They had been friends since they were little, throughout school - for a time, she had thought about marrying him.

But then the Hundred Days Union happened, and she was thrown together with the poor Seam miner who would change her life forever.

She hadn't loved Estes, at first - shocking as it was to think such a thing now. At the time, she had intended to ride out the forced arranged marriage for 100 days, annul it, go running back into Steffan's arms and then that would be that. But Estes had crept up on her, shown her a world her Merchant pride had shielded her from. He had humbled her. Wooed her. And ultimately seduced her - so much so, that she maintained their marriage when the time for annulment came, renouncing her Merchant life and damning herself as well. But could it really be called damnation, if it felt like heaven?

Nevertheless, she felt guilty as she noticed the soft, sad gaze Steffan now projected towards her. Seeing his clear melancholy, hidden just beneath - the melancholy at losing whom he had really wanted and then having to turn to his very, very, _very_ second choice made her pity him.

Suddenly, she got a crazy idea. It was crazy, but still warmed her all the same. As this idea turned over in her mind, the door opened and she watched as Steffan accepted herbs from her family. No doubt they would be placed in the bread he had always been so good at baking.

"Steffan, I... I'll have some medicine pretty soon. I know you have to get going, but... I can treat that bruise, if you like."

Steffan nodded. "Where can I meet you? I wouldn't advise coming to the bakery." He was right about that. The few times she had stopped there for bread and encountered Paula, his wife's reactions had been... less than friendly.

"Meet me in the Meadow at 9:00 tonight," she suggested breathlessly. She could not hold his confused gaze for long as she silently took her ration of medicine at last, turned, and ran up the path for home.


	4. Chapter 4: What Might Have Been

**Chapter 4: What Might Have Been**

It was a clear, moonlit night, as Lillian waited, heart pounding, for Steffan to appear. Watching the clouds and path of the luminous orb in the sky as Estes had taught her, she judged 9:00 to have passed minutes ago. She was just about to worry when -

"Lillian?" The voice pinged out from the darkness.

She approached the electrical fence that bordered District 12, which Steffan was now trying to crawl under. Thank God the thing was always off. She had learned that from her husband, too, watching him slip like a cunning fox into the woods to bring them home fresh game. Estes was a skilled archer.

When Steffan was under the fence, Lillian sat him down in the meadowy grass and began to apply a herbal salve to his cheek. Her hands brushed his face in an intimate way; she could see his eyes flutter close at her touch.

"Why did you leave?" He didn't even need to clarify the question.

"You know I never wanted that arrangement to be permanent; my parents were furious when I was matched with him. I had every intention of coming back to you; finally asking you to marry -" She stopped herself. "But then Estes... just by singing..."

Lillian finally met his gaze. Steffan was staring at her in shock; she had never revealed any of this before, especially her original plans for her marriage to Estes Everdeen. The Baker must have felt embarrassed, for he shifted to rise as soon as she was done.

"Wait!" She didn't mean to sound so desperate, for she suddenly grabbed him, laid him flat on his back in the grass, and gallingly moved to mount him. Steffan nearly choked.

"Lillian..." he groaned nervously.

"Ssssssssshhhhh..." Her finger brushed his lip to silence him. "Steffan, if you love me, will you... will you do something for me?"

"Anything," he sighed, his eyes filled with love. He loved her! She should have known it would still be there.

"I want another baby. And poor Estes can't do it." She wondered if this admission would help Steffan put two and two together regarding her already-existing child, but she did not wait to find out. He would never suspect the drunk Victor - not in a million years. And even if the baker did work out the truth, he would never tell a soul, for if Paula got wind of it... "Think of it as my penance. For not giving you what you wanted. Will you give me another baby, Steffan?"

He smiled. "Of course." And he kissed her as he surely had wanted to her all his life, rolling her onto her back and divesting her of her dress. Soon he was inside her, thrusting desperately and moaning with a satisfaction that his wife surely had never given him. Even if she _had_ borne three healthy sons by him. Lillian writhed against him, enjoying the moment and hoping it would be enough, for this was the first and last time they would join like this... Then it would be just a memory...

* * *

Steffan played his role quite well. Within weeks, Lillian discovered that she was pregnant again. Estes was overjoyed, but she could tell by the look in his eyes that he knew. He knew it was not of his doing; after trying for the last few years with the same abysmal results as before, he had pretty much confirmed what he thought he already knew, and had given up using sex as a means of procreation.

Still, imagine his surprise when a wailing baby girl came into the world nine months later with the flowing blond hair and blue eyes belonging to any Merchant - that epitome of what some historians described with mixed emotion as the Aryan race. But Estes did not demand the father's identity, asked no questions at all, in fact. Took no sides.

Lillian thought about naming her daughter after some kind of bread, in honor of her biological father, except that she knew it would give Steffan's involvement away to her husband. The Mellark lads were all named after various breads themselves. So she instead adhered to the names of plants, calling her second - and almost certainly last - child Primrose.

But she did honor Steffan's successful contribution in another way, by giving their child a... bready (was that even a word?) middle name. One that would not arouse any suspicions from her husband: Focaccia.

Primrose Focaccia Everdeen.


	5. Part II: Stockholmed, Chapter 5: 100 Day

**Part II: Stockholmed**

 **Chapter 5: 100 Day**

 **Katniss's POV**

With shaking hands, I pin up my hair in the signature braid down my back. Slip into the faded blue dress, one of the hand-me-downs from my mother. I do not recognize the young woman who stares back at me in the mirror - someone who is actually pretty, even I can admit it. Seeing my present sixteen-year-old self like this, I can't help but wonder: would my father be proud of who I have become, if a mining explosion had not claimed his life and left my mother all but dead inside? He's been gone since I was 11; Prim was only 7. I doubt he'd even recognize me.

"You look beautiful." I turn from the mirror to see my mother eyeing me from the entryway.

"Were you scared? For your 100 Days Union?"

A rare smile ghosts across my mother's lips. "No." Then: "I was _terrified_."

At the age of 16, every girl in District 12 is made to stand in front of their neighbors and be literally auctioned off into an arranged marriage to the highest bidder. This couple is then married for the next 100 days, at which point they can either have a formal wedding and toasting, or annul the contract. Thank God there's this out. But even then, the practice is revolting. A girl my age can literally be sold off into the bed of any man, at any age. For someone like me, who views marriage - whether forced or not - with disdain, being made to go through with one at all feels like a prison sentence.

My little sister, Primrose, now enters the room. At only twelve, she is already as beautiful as our mother. Being protective as I am, I shudder to think how many men will fight over her at her 100 Days Union ceremony. I wrap her into a hug. "Let's go."

We walk towards the center of town. By the time we arrive in the square in front of the Justice Building, most of the crowd has already gathered. It's hard enough to do this an additional time each summer for the Reaping Day ceremony that declares who will die, instead of who will be wed.

After registering with the Peacekeepers, I shockingly take the stage. Only two other girls have come of age in the previous year, and I thankfully recognize both of them: Madge Undersee, the Mayor's daughter; and Delly Cartwright, a Merchant. Madge is one of the closest things I have to a friend. At least, we sit together for lunch every day at school. Delly I do not know as well, except that she always has a kind word to say for everyone she meets. In an unusual display of affection even for me, I hug them both. Before long, the crowd grows hushed and we girls stand, shoulder to shoulder, for the whole District to see. Effie Trinket, our usual escort from the Capitol, starts the proceedings.

"First, we have Madge Undersee - a pretty blond and the Mayor's daughter! Do I hear 10 coins?"

And we're off to the races.

"10 coins!" calls the single Merchant grocer.

"15 coins!" Thom, the Miner foreman from the Seam, quickly matches.

"Going once... going twice... SOLD!" Effie calls.

Thom takes the stage. He and Madge are presented with a contract, which they quickly sign; the temporary marriage is then sealed with a simple kiss.

Watching them leave, I gulp. Thom is one of the few men in all of Twelve whom I know; I was acquainted to him through my hunting partner, Gale Hawthorne. The Foreman's a kind man whom I would have at least been able to bear with in bed. But I'm just happy that Madge is safe; Thom will treat her well.

"Next," Effie continues. "We have Delly Cartwright - a stunning ginger redhead. Do I hear... 15 coins?"

"15!" a miner whom I don't recognize calls.

"20!" calls another voice who I can't even match with a face.

"25!" Yet another voice, right on its heels.

"Going once... going twice... SOLD!" Effie trills.

The winner turns out to be Matthew Rivers, the son of District 12's most renowned geologist. I don't know much about him, only that he is another kind young man and very politically oriented. He and Delly are married with the same little fanfare.

I begin to shake as Effie turns to me. I can only hope that I will end up with a man just as gentle and understanding.

"And last, but certainly not least, we have a Seam beauty - Katniss Everdeen! Do I hear... 10 coins?"

"10 coins!" I try not to register my horror as the married, middle-aged son of the Seam milkman starts the bidding. I only remember him because he once came to my mother and literally asked for my hand in marriage when I was only 14. Mother threw him out of the house.

"15 coins!" Now I want to throw up. A man in a Peacekeeper's uniform with a very unique ponytail ups the ante.

"20 coins!" My heart swells. Gale. He's trying to buy me, to save me from this horror. But I barely have time to seek out his face in the crowd, when a fourth voice calls.

"20 coins and two bits!" When I see the voice's owner, I nearly topple off the stage. It's Peeta Mellark, the Baker's son. I have only ever had one interaction with the youngest Mellark boy, and it was years ago. He burned some bread on purpose, and took a vicious beating from his mother, just to feed me and my family when we were starving, before I learned how to hunt.

"25 coins!" Milkman's Son throws out.

"30 coins -"

" - and two bits!" Peeta talks over Ponytail Peacekeeper's bid before he even finishes.

"35 coins -"

"- and two bits!" Peeta repeats with determination. He must effectively knock Gale out of the running, for my hunting partner gives me a pleadingly apologetic look. 35 was as high as he could go.

It's a three-way brawl now. 35 coins and two bits is enough to feed an entire Seam family for half a year, at least. But how would even Peeta, a Merchant, have so much money on hand?

"40 coins..." Milkman's Son raises the stakes.

"... and two bits!" Ponytail Peacekeeper smirks at Peeta before the Baker's son can name the price himself.

"60 COINS!" I whirl around in abject astonishment and horror as _Haymitch Abernathy, Victor of the 50th Hunger Games_ , adds himself to the pot with a booming voice. I can hardly believe it. Did our district's only living victor just win? It would seem so, for Milkman's Son throws his hat into the dirt in frustration. Meanwhile, Ponytail Peacekeeper looks like he wants to whip out his gun and shoot the old drunk dead right there in the square.

Yes, it would appear Haymitch has me. But instead, he turns to Peeta. "Go ahead, boy. I know you have that ace in the hole. Take her from me."

Peeta stares in such amazement at this unexpected secession, that he barely manages to stammer out, "60 coins and two bits."

"Going once... going twice... SOLD!" Effie says it relatively quickly, as if she wants this over as much as I do. Peeta mounts the stage, and someone thrusts a marriage contract in front of our noses. With a shaking hand, I sign my name, and then Peeta follows suit. We are now married for the next 100 days.

"Well? Kiss!" Effie huffs impatiently. I had forgotten about that. Before I know what is happening, Peeta is pulling me to him and kissing me briefly right on the mouth. Before my body can even so much as stiffen, he has drawn back.

Hand-in-hand, we disappear into the already dispersing crowd, and join Peeta's family. His mother gives no reaction beyond a sniff, no doubt from her wounded pride, and strides away towards the bakery. Their home. And now _my_ new home for the next three and a half months.

I chance a nervous glance back at my mother and Prim. But then one more gaze catches my eyes. I see Haymitch Abernathy still standing on the stage where he was before, focusing on me like a laser pointer, his brow creased in... interest? Concern? I can't quite tell.

* * *

The walk to the Bakery from the Justice Building is not that far. Mrs. Mellark lets us in through the back, and flicks on the lights. Through the narrow hallway ahead, I can see the front counter and the entrance to the shop. On either side of us, racks with cooling bread line the wall. Off to the left after you reach the counter, is a door that must lead back into the kitchens and ovens. A flight of stairs directly to my right must lead up to the family's quarters where they live above the shop.

"Wash up for dinner!" Mrs. Mellark barks out the order like an unhinged drill sergeant. A squeeze of my hand from Peeta reminds me that we are still in direct contact.

"My room's the last door at the end of the hallway when you reach the landing. Bathroom's just beyond. You go on up first; I'll wait for you."

I can't even look at him, much less muster up a thank you, as I climb the stairs and follow his instructions. And what would I be thanking him for, anyway? For buying me like a piece of furniture? Certainly not! Finding a place for everything, and everything in its place (at least Peeta isn't a slob), I take a much needed shower before simply changing back into my blue dress. I did not get that hot out in the sun today, and anyhow, I won't be able to bring more clothes from my mother's house at least until tomorrow.

I finally exit the bathroom to see Peeta standing right there patiently. Flushing, I quickly sashay past him and head downstairs, where Peeta's parents and his two older brothers, Leven and Rye, already wait in their seats. About five minutes later, Peeta joins us.

The Baker clasps his hands with a smile. "Well: shall we say Grace?"

From the look on his wife's face, it is clear this is a tradition that has either lain dormant in its use, or has not even been used at all. It could be argued that the Witch, as I like to call her, hardly even knows what 'Grace' _is_. Somewhat awkwardly, we all join hands.

"Heavenly Father, we thank you for all the many blessings on this family. We thank you for bringing us a new friend..." Upon the Baker's eyes meeting mine with a small smile, I quickly look away. "... and we ask that you look after us on this holiday season, and that we may... never forget how fortunate we are. Amen."

"Amen," we all echo, and then begin to dig in.

A normal meal in the Seam takes all of maybe 30 minutes, at most. This dinner lasts for an hour or two. More than that, probably. Several courses of food are brought out. No way even a Merchant family eats all of _this_ on any normal evening. I begin to wonder if the Hundred Days Union ceremony is treated as a sort of holiday by the upper classes of Twelve. I know some families treat the Reaping Day in the same fashion. In fact, most families - Merchant or Seam - cook a feast after the Reaping is over, to celebrate that their age-eligible children were spared for another year.

The exception, of course, are the two families of that year's tributes.

It's already quite late by the time the dishes are all cleared away. The Baker has been at work smoking a pipe for the last several minutes. Except for the ticking of the wall clock, there is uniform silence. When the timepiece chimes many bongs in succession, Peeta looks at his watch.

"Bout time for you boys to start turning in," he observes. "Got a big day of baking ahead tomorrow."

No response. "9 o'clock already. Hour past your bedtime."

"Yours, too, little brother," Leven observes. There is a round of snickering from both him and Rye. Even the Baker gives a soft, amused smile from around his pipe. Me? I flush in absolute mortification, for I know full well what they're getting at. I know what's coming.

Evidently, Peeta does as well, for he is making a concerted effort to not give away any bother on his face over these lewd comments. He rises from his chair. "Well, getting a might sleepy at that. Katniss?"

I would do anything else rather than accept the hand he offers to me, but I have no choice, not with all eyes on us. Taking it, I rise.

"Good night, boys; Mother," Peeta smiles as nonchalantly as though we aren't going up to do what I know we're going to do. I can feel everyone's gaze lingering on us as we climb the stairs.

Once we get in his room, Peeta mercifully excuses himself into the bathroom to change. I am left alone to my own thoughts and the pounding of my heart, as I strip myself of my dress, my bra, my panties, and the garter that Mother had given me. I know what I must do. I am repulsed by it, and swore that I would never do it, and yet I must do it. For the next 100 days, I am Mrs. Peeta Mellark. I am this young man's wife... and as such, I must give myself to him in his bed, to do with what he wishes. As any woman would do for her husband.

A sudden choking sound makes me spin around. Peeta is now averting his eyes desperately, out of respect, his mouth open. "Katniss... we... we..."

I sit down on the bed innocently, trying not to think about how I am naked, expectantly waiting for him to join me. Eventually, he does, but he does not move beyond taking my hand in his. "We don't have to do anything at all."

"What? Then why did you bid for me, if not for that?"

"Not for... _sex_ , Katniss. To save you. I had to save you! Save you from all those other men."

 _Save_ me? I can scarcely process what I am hearing. Here sits the man who is my husband, apparently, and yet he does not _want_ me? Does not _want_ me for his pleasure?

I don't believe him. If there's one thing I've learned in this life, it is that behind every apparently altruistic behavior lurks an ulterior, self-interested motive. And I _definitely_ don't believe him when my eyes flicker downwards and I see the potent bulge in his pajama pants. And it fills me with rage. This man says he does not want me to lie with him in his bed, and yet all proof to the contrary stands at attention for us both to see!

"Then, how do you explain _this_?" I seethe. I snap my hand forward and roughly grab Peeta's groin in my palm. I fiercely press my lips to his before he can cry out, my eyelids dropping closed with as much finality as the steel doors of a bank vault. As our mouths battle - mine for dominance, his for freedom - I manage to break my tongue into Peeta's maw and down into his throat. All the while, I furiously rub his penis in my grasp, molding him, grooming him, readying him for me. My grip could be a little less awkward, and my kissing skills are quite clumsy - atrocious, even - but I hope Peeta knows as little as I do about making love.

"No..." Peeta gasps out in a rare moment from underneath my insistent lips, but his voice is weak, hoarse even. Encouraged by this, thinking his resistance to my angry advances are crumbling, I throw the blond boy flat onto his back on his own bed and move quickly to straddle his waist. I curl back the elastic of his pajama pants - thankfully, his only current clothing - as I move to kiss his neck.

"Katnisss..." Whatever it is, it can wait, and I pump his shaft faster in my fist to shut him up. I have managed to push his pajama bottoms down to his ankles by now. For just a moment, I catch a glimpse of Peeta's engorged penis, which I have been tenderly crafting like a potter at his wheel.

"Mmmmmmmmmmmm..." I moan loudly, and I begin to roll my hips insistently into Peeta's. Maybe if he feels how wet I actually am, he'll surrender completely. How strange, that my walls are pulsing with juices, yearning for something I have heretofore never wanted or even considered wanting. Still on my guard that my husband will try and make himself free of me, I guide him into my center, quickly sheathing him inside of me. Remembering what I learned about in those embarrassing Family Planning classes in school, I proceed to bounce up and down on Peeta's member.

"MMMMM!" I squeal loudly as hands seize my head to keep my lips firmly in place. Peeta is now openly _kissing me back_. What's more, he is rolling his hips upwards to meet me, in perfect harmony with my own.

Then, just as suddenly, he flips us both so that I now lie beneath him, and I give a tiny squeak as my body jarringly connects with the mattress. The motion has briefly broken our kiss, and just for a moment, I can see that Peeta's pupils have gone black as the coals in the mines, projecting unmasked, animalistic _lust_. He _does_ want me! I knew he did; I just knew it!

And then? Ohhhhhhhhhhhh... Peeta begins to pound into me like a jackhammer. But its the most peaceful jackhammer I've ever encountered. His every thrust is like a piece of iron just cooled from the furnaces. His warmth begins to fill me, building more and more and more. Our bodies collide, then part, and then collide again, with the ferocity of two animals in heat. The bed creaks, shakes, screams and sways. The motion even ripples out to the bedside table right next to us, so that small items like picture frames begin to topple to the floor.

"Uhhhhhhhhh... Uhhhhhhhhhhhhh... UHHHHHHHHHH! OHHHHHHHHHHHH! UHHHHHHHH! MMMMMMMMMM!" I scream and thrash so loudly, so violently, I am sure the whole of Peeta's family can hear us! Just when I feel I might catapult into space and never come down again -

"GRRRRRRRRR!" The beastly growl emanates from Peeta as he finally sprays his seed inside of me. Moments later, I catch up to him, wailing like a banshee as I climax for the very first time in my young life, surfing on the waves of my own pleasure in what must be called an orgasm. "AHHHHHHHHHHH!"

We lie there for a few minutes, a heap of sweaty limbs and panting breaths, before Peeta finally pulls out of me. Rolling off of me, he collapses on the mattress and lies absolutely still.

I stare at him for a long while after that, my eyes wide, my feelings unsure. I sense that I have begun my way down a path I cannot reverse easily. As I turn on my side facing away from the man who I just gave my virginity to, I try not to dwell on what that path might be.


	6. Chapter 6: Arranged Married Life

**Chapter 6: Arranged Married Life**

The sensation of the sun beginning to stream through the window awakens me early. As the last vestiges of sleep depart from my eyes, I suddenly remember where I am. I know I am naked, lying curled up against a man whom, up until not even 24 hours ago, I hardly knew. A man who is now my husband, and whom I impulsively took to bed last night. Shrinking away from Peeta's equally naked form, I rise and begin to cover myself with whatever articles of clothing I can find. Just after I finish dressing, a yawn prompts me to turn around. Peeta is now rising from the bed we shared, stumbling towards the shower in his - _our_ \- bathroom. Despite flushing at the sight of his bare form and glancing away, I feel concerned for him.

"Why are you up so early?"

"I have to open up for the day," he replies. He means the bakery. Remembering that I am now a baker's wife and his trade is now in some ways my own, I ask if he needs my help.

"No, but thank you." He glances out the window and towards the horizon, where the sun is just beginning to announce itself. Seeing me follow his gaze, he smiles in amusement. "Go on, get out of here. I know you need to hunt. If you leave right now, you could get back before Mother and Dad are up."

For a fleeting moment, I consider kissing him in gratitude, but refrain. Instead, I don my hunting jacket and head for the woods, without giving my new husband so much as a hug.

The game I procure that morning is very rich. The buck's pelt alone should bag me several coins. When I feel I have enough to make a decent trade, I head for the Hob. The sun is now climbing higher in the sky; I doubt I'll make it back to the bakery in time to beat my new in-laws rising, as Peeta estimated.

The first stop I make is at the milkman's stand. His son, the middle-aged fellow who dueled so heavily with Peeta for my hand, is manning the counter. He examines the deer I hauled in.

"It'll make for a nice chunk of meat."

"Good pelt, too," I add. He ponders it some more before retreating into his stores and bringing out several gallons of milk; it takes a couple trips.

"I'll give you seven gallons for the whole lot. And a few coins."

My mouth falls open in astonishment. The rational part of me, the one that always knows a good bargain when it sees one, would ordinarily take advantage of the gift and make off. But -

"This is too much."

"I insist, girl. It's the least I can do."

I frown with both skepticism and bemusement. The milkman's family is one of the upper-class Seamers of Twelve. Besides that, the milkman's son did admit his interest in me when he bartered for my hand. I know he wanted me, probably still does. And Peeta was none too eager to bed me last night. This reminder angers me, and I make a split-second decision.

"Follow me." Perplexed, the milkman's son stays close behind as I lead him out to the back of the Hob's shacks. Confident that we're alone, I pull him to me by the neck and kiss his lips soundly.

The milkman's son is surprised for a moment before he moans into my mouth and kisses me back. His hands are all over me in an instant, brazenly groping my bum and giving it a squeeze. He pulls back, gasping for air.

"You're married, girl!"

"Just for the next 100 days," I purr in my best seductive voice. "And anyway, our trade needs to be at least fair, wouldn't you agree?"

The milkman's son stares wide-eyed at me before pulling me back into his embrace and kissing me again. I moan into his mouth to keep up appearances. Sharing romantic relations with someone almost three times my age is repulsive no matter who does it. And with this man, especially, who once asked my mother for my hand in marriage when I was barely a teenager.

Still, the transgression I now embark upon kills two birds with one stone. Three, really: I can make a fair trade, quench the milkman's son's want for me, and get back at Peeta for not wanting me last night.

Seizing me by my thighs, the milkman's son hoists me up the wall of the Hob. The hem of my blue Seam dress rolls back until it is bunched up tight around my hips. I kiss him with barely suppressed revulsion, only hearing the sound of his leggings dropped to the ground. Next second, I feel a bloated... _thing_... _his_ thing... slide swiftly into me. The sensation does not hurt so much as the night before, thanks to Peeta.

"Mmmmmmm... Mmmmmmmmmmmm...MMMMMMMMMMM! MMMMMMMM!" My moans grow louder and the rickety walls of the Hob shake with every collision of our bodies. I am so afraid someone will hear! Or worse, see us!

"Fuck... fuck... uhhhhhhhh... Grrrrrrrr..." The milkman's son groans as he pounds in harder and harder. At last, he lets forth a sound like nothing I've ever heard and shudders against me, staggering into my body and slumping slightly as he ejaculates into me. After which he moves no more.

Disgusted by his desperate style of lovemaking, I shove him out of me and collect myself. "We're finished," I say emphatically, returning into the black market through a back door and collecting his payment before leaving out the front. I have to find Mother and Prim before I return to the bakery. With the amount I gleaned from the milkman's son, it would surely make most sense to share some of the lot with them. I am scanning the crowd for my family when a Peacekeeper blocks my path.

"Hi," he greets me. His hair is bunchy and weavy; it almost looks like a toupee. Perhaps it is, because what Peacekeeper - hell, what person - has his hair tied back in a ponytail? Then I remember: it's the very same Peacekeeper who was also so eager to marry me, and no doubt screw me even worse than the milkman's son did just now. He looks greasy and dirty despite the fact he wears the Peacekeeper uniform with a rifle in his hands.

"Uh, um…,excuse me," I stutter back, feeling uneasy as he stares into my eyes. The look he sends my way makes me feel uncomfortable. I survey my surroundings, hoping that someone might be watching us.

"My name's John " he says as I try to walk past him. "What's the hurry?" He steps into my way, blocking my path. "I'm just being friendly."

"I need to––"

"Katniss, there you are! It's time to go home," Mother shouts to me. I look beyond John to see that she is walking up the path, and that Prim is standing next to her, her face etched with concern. "I need you to help out with dinner. The cooking will have to set for most of the day." I nod my head as I run towards her.

"See you around, Katniss," John yells to my retreating back.

* * *

I stay with my Mother and Prim for the rest of the day. Shit. I expect to hear an earful about it from Peeta when I get home, if not also from his emotionally unstable mother. I'm surprised he hasn't come around here looking for me yet, wondering where I am.

"So... how was last night?" Mother suddenly asks after Primrose has gone to bed.

The redness of my face must give it away, for my mother sighs and rises to the cabinet. She returns with a packet of herbal leaves.

"Next time, steep these in hot water to make a tea. Don't drink it more than twelve hours after you and he come together..."

I don't think it is possible for me to blush any more, but I do. "Mother..."

"Katniss, this is marriage. If you did take Peeta to bed last night, I take it must be going better than either of us expected!"

"No, just as good as could be expected for something that was totally arranged!" I huff. "Don't expect me to be Mrs. Peeta Mellark forever. I'll ride it out for the next... 99, 98 days, and then annul the marriage. It'll be what's best for everyone."

"Best for everyone? Or best for you?" Mother perceptively prods. I don't answer. I hate how her comment has me thinking about Peeta, his feelings on the matter. My plans beyond the next three and a half months are something we have yet to discuss.

"Darling, you may think that is how you feel now, but you may not give the same answer 100 days from now. I was never going to tell you this, but..." her eyes meet mine. "Your father's and my marriage was originally based on a Hundred Days Union."

I stare up into her face in shock, hardly daring to believe it. Mother smiles sadly, knowingly.

"And I once thought as you do. I had every intention of divorcing your father as soon as the 100 days were up. But, then..." she chuckles ruefully. "I fell in love. Your father crept up on me like a prey on one of his hunts. And I walked right into his snare of love."

Her metaphor would be amusing if its implications for my current predicament weren't so terrifying.

"And yet, it wasn't all happy. I ended up breaking my then-boyfriend's heart when I didn't run back to him the way I'd promised myself." Mother sighs.

Now I'm deeply intrigued. "Who was it?" I almost whisper.

"Mr. Mellark."

I gasp. "Peeta's _dad_?" She nods.

"We'd been friends ever since we were in school." Then she takes my hand. "Katniss, honey: I'm not saying that I expect what happened to me to befall you. But give yourself time. Open your mind. And open your heart. If you show encouragement, Peeta will meet you halfway."

* * *

It is dark by the time I leave my childhood home in the Seam. Despite how very late I know I already am, I wander slowly back to the Merchant sector of town, pondering all my mother told me. If that's really the story of how my parents found each other, what does that mean for me and Peeta? The answer, I suspect, is anything but good.

"Well, hello there, beautiful!" I flinch in aggravation as John appears in front of me. Damnit, I've been so lost in my thoughts that I didn't see him until it was too late. "What are you doing here all by yourself?" His tone is lecherous as he looks me over from head to toe. I feel violated, like he is undressing me with his eyes.

"Excuse me, my family is looking for me." That defense worked the last time, and I only pray that Mother and Prim are not far off. Perhaps they are following me to make sure I get home safely? I take a step and he blocks my path.

"I don't think so," he states. "I've been looking for you."

"Move aside." I feel a rush of fear and something else on the base of my spine. "My…my boyfriend is looking for me."

"What boyfriend?" Shit, he's called my bluff. Why didn't I say husband? Maybe then he would have backed off. It makes me queasy to think about how much he has possibly observed me, or worse, how much he knows. Does he know of my marriage to Peeta? Wait, of course he does, he was there! Even if he didn't, and even if I _had_ only a boyfriend, who would it possibly be? Gale? Certainly not. But I am fresh out of people who might come looking for me, so I decide to cling to the lie with all my might.

"No…he's––" John pulls my arm and shoves me against a wall. "Stop," I scream, hoping someone will hear me.

"Yell all you want," he whispers in my ear. With his close proximity I can smell liquor on his breath. "Don't fight me, I know you want this. I've been wanting you since the first time I saw you." I shiver in disgust and anger, struggling as he yanks both my wrists and places them above my head. He licks the side of my neck, causing me to gulp in revulsion.

"Help me! Someone help me!" I scream at the top of my voice. My cries are muffled from the roar of the nearby mines, hiding my pleas for help. I try to kick John but it is useless as he pins my lower body with his. The armor plates he wears bruise my skin, pressing my legs back into the wooden wall.

I scream as he flicks off my father's hunting jacket, then rips my top with ease, exposing my bra and bare skin down to my waist. I can't believe this is happening to me.

"Scream, bitch. Tell me you want this," he presses his filthy mouth against the side of my neck. "I know you want this." His hand grabs my breast and squeezes hard as his other hand pins my hands above my head. I scream in pain as he bites into my shoulder.

Then his hand reaches under my skirt. I close my eyes and wait for the inevitable as he reaches down and tears my panties. I cry in anger and in fear. I am so stupid. Why didn't I at least get someone else, like Prim, to accompany me back to the bakery? John rubs his filthy, cold hands up and down my upper thigh. His fingers at first brush, and then sink into my pussy. His thumb finds my clit, and he begins to rub, faster and faster. His hips flick into my center as he violently humps me and I shake at the feeling of his rock-hard cock so near my entrance. I don't want this; I've never wanted this! I promised myself that I would die a virgin, unmarried and childless... Even if I now have failed to keep two of those promises, I at least hoped I could uphold the last one.

I feel sick, disgusted and scared because there is no one to help me. I hear the sound of John's belt buckle fall onto the ground. Next second, I feel his engorged penis slam into my insides, and I cry out. "Mmmmmmm!" The sound is squelched by John's lips on my own, licking me there like a slobbery puppy dog. I try to bite on his lip with my teeth, but he expertly dodges, instead attempting to force my mouth open with his own. I'll be damned if he jams his tongue down my throat! All the while, John frantically thrusts into me, in the hopes that he can cum as soon as possible. Is this what all Peacekeepers do? Rape young Seam and Merchant women in the hopes of impregnating them, as no one would bear such offspring willingly? It must be, for John's frenzied pounding grows weaker and weaker. No, no, no...

Too late. He empties himself into me, his penis shrinking within my walls with every burst of cum. But I know he won't just release me now that he's gotten himself off. He'll keep going and going and going, if he lusts for me as much as he claims...

Just when I am resigned to my fate, the pressure from his body and his hands are gone. His penis uncouples from my vagina just as violently as they were joined in this revolting union. I open my eyes to find a figure holding John in a headlock, his strong muscular arms around his neck. The mystery assailant has wrestled the Peacekeeper onto his knees. I gasp in relief and shock, my hands coming to my mouth as I stare in astonishment.

I turn to my savior as he looks up and his eyes clash into mine, his blues eyes red with fury. It is Peeta. My husband. He is an avenging archangel on Earth, dispensing his fiery wrath without regard to liberate me from this hell.

John struggles as Peeta adds pressure around his neck. John's face turns pink, then red, then a worrisome purple as he fights to breath.

"You'll kill him!" I cry.

"That's the idea," Peeta growls. But then something flickers in his eyes, as if he has changed his mind. Suddenly, he whiplashes John into the one wall of the alley. I hear a sickening crack and I wonder if he has broken the Peacekeeper's skull. But, no, John - now free of the chokehold - is struggling to stand. Peeta doesn't let him get far though, bringing one powerful fist down on the man's spine. John crumples into the dirt and lies still.

Peeta is doubled over, his hands resting on his knees, breathing hard. My eyes fixed to him, I silently begin to cover myself with my somewhat ruined clothes. I jump when his eyes meet mine.

"Go home," he rasps. "Go home to your mother. Tell her what's happened. Get her to collect evidence before you clean up. You understand me?"

I don't reply, only asking in reference to the body beside us. "Is he... dead?"

"I don't think so. Just knocked out."


	7. Chapter 7: Repay My Rescuer

**Chapter 7: Repay My Rescuer**

But John is more than just knocked out, as I soon come to learn. A few days after I tearfully enlist my mother in treating me and telling her what happened, I come home from school to find out that some Peacekeepers brought my rapist to my mother for a diagnosis. Peeta's beating, however brief, was very effective, leaving John paralyzed from the neck down. Besides offering painkillers, Mother could do no more to help.

Rumors spread throughout the Hob that Cray is furious over one of his own men being essentially turned into a vegetable, and even more enraged that he has no idea who caused it. It is accepted as fact in the Seam that some brave soul intervened in a rape gone awry; John apparently had a well-built reputation for preying on young girls. Besides from this, the identity of the interloper remains a mystery.

So does the identity of the victim, for that matter.

* * *

It's a few weeks after my rape at the hands of John. Mother's prescriptions have been lifesavers. And so, amazingly, has my husband.

Besides literally saving me from that disgusting Peacekeeper, Peeta spares me any need to recount my harrowing ordeal. For him, there appears to be nothing more to explain. He does not even get angry with me for not returning all day to the bakery. Surely he was worried sick? But even this he does not express.

My husband's unconditional reservation of judgement leaves me guilt-ridden. I remember how I betrayed our marriage vows - coerced as they were - when I fucked the milkman's son. And then getting myself caught on John's radar... all of this is my own damn fault. I'm such a horrible wife!

The conflict eats away at me, until finally, one morning in our bedroom as we ready to open the bakery for the day, I all but blurt out:

"I'm sorry."

Peeta turns to me, perplexed. "What?"

"I'm sorry," I croak out. "I... I should never have forced myself on you. On our wedding night."

Peeta just sighs solemnly. "You don't have to apologize to anyone. Including me. I can't hold you to anything this Hundred Days thing expects of us. I saved you. I know that. So if you can stop looking at me like I'm wounded, and I can quit acting like it, and then _maybe_... we've got a shot at being friends."

Friends. That sounds nice. More doable then husband and wife, anyway. I return my gaze to him from where I had glanced away to see him holding his hand out to me. "Friends?"

I smile softly. "Friends." And we firmly shake. But he doesn't let go, instead pulling me to my feet.

I giggle softly. "What are we doing?"

"We, my wife mine, are going to knead some dough. I told you I'd make a baker out of you yet, and I will!"

And he takes me downstairs to the kitchen, where he begins to instruct me on how to manipulate the gooey substance. Neither of us notices Peeta's mother or brothers watching us with a mixture of amusement and anger.

* * *

 **Third Person POV**

Paula Mellark watched as her son and... daughter-in-law kneaded that day's bread as though they were playing in the snow.

"I knew it! I just knew this would happen!"

"Oh, Mom, come off it! You gotta admit they look kinda cute together!" Rye countered with an affectionate smile towards his siblings.

"Cute? _Cute?!_ Nothing good can come of my son getting involved with _her_! I don't think you're aware that your brother has married a..."

"A _what_?" Rye growled warningly, anger flaring to the surface. "A _what_ , exactly?"

Leven, who had always made the best peace, tried to break it up. "She doesn't mean anything by it, Rye..."

"Oh, yes, she does! Now why don't you make yourself useful and go do the books or something in the back? Stop raining on everybody else's parade! Peeta is happy: get over it!"

Fuming at her middle son standing up to her, indeed calling her bluff, Paula stalked into the back stockroom.

* * *

 **Katniss's POV**

Peeta peers over the rim of the bushes, observing the rabbit gnawing on a walnut. He takes a deep breath and readies the bow. Pulling the arrow back on the string, he lets it fly. WHOOSH! The arrow goes wide, going completely in the wrong direction and impaling itself into a tree 30 feet to the rabbit's right. Startled, the little creature disappears into the underbrush.

"Damn!" Peeta curses, standing up out of his crouch. "Either I'm doing something really wrong, or your bow just doesn't like me, _sweetheart_." He turns to me, where I'm leaning against another tree steps away. I give him one of my rare, glorious laughs and a smug smile as I saunter over to him.

"Nothing could dislike you, _honey_ ," I chuckle. "Therefore, assume you are doing something wrong. Can you guess what?"

Peeta ponders for a moment, even recreating his last shot before giving a helpless shrug.

I grin patiently. As a teacher, I will pass down what Gale and my father taught me as a little girl. Lead your pupil through the steps, encouraging them to think for themselves until they come to the answer on their own.

"Get into your stance," I order. My husband obeys. Instantly, I discover it is not his stance that is off, _per se_ – his feet are planted just as I showed him. His posture is what is wonky.

I envelop him in a hug from behind, holding him by the waist. "Straighten that back," I instruct. "Stomach muscles taught." I can feel the muscles in his lower torso tighten, only allowing myself to admire them briefly, lest sudden dirty thoughts distract me from my task.

I then move my hands to Peeta's shoulders. "Elbow down," pressing the elbow of his bow arm down so it is streamlined to the rest of his body. My fingers run over the hand gripping the bow. "Relax the grip just slightly…." I notice he is squinting. "And one more thing, _dear_ \- keep both eyes open when you shoot. You'll see twice as well." Peeta adjusts.

Just then, I see something out of my peripheral vision: a deer, positioned at ten o'clock, munching on some grass. It hasn't seen us.

"Peeta," I whispered in my husband's ear. "Without leaving your stance, turn about 75 degrees to the left. There! You see it?" He nods.

"Now… feel the energy flowing through. Relax, darling. Take a deep breath, and on the exhale…. Release."

WHOOSH! The arrow flies swift and sure, and undeniably straight. It hits the deer right in its center rib, felling the creature instantly.

Peeta's tenseness deflates and he stares, before the most boyish grin appears on his face. "I got it! I got it!"

He can barely say this before he feels a silky hand cup his chin and turn it back, before I give him the softest kiss on the lips. I pull away with a beaming smile.

Peeta blushes in surprise. "What was that for?" He thinks he and I are just still acting as friends, despite our married status. Nicknames of endearment are about as far as we get, an inside joke over our forced marital union.

I just shrug playfully. "You're learning. That buck should feed half the district and us for a week, at least. How about this: for every bulls-eye, you get a kiss just like that. Deal?"

Peeta grins and gives me a warm kiss in return. My eyes widen in surprise, but I accept it, deepening it briefly before we break apart.

"Deal," Peeta agrees. "You'll make a hunter out of me yet, _my sexy wife_. How about another kiss for luck?"

I just smirk coyly at my husband's seductive overtures. "Show me you can get back into a _proper_ stance, Bread Boy. Then we'll see."

Peeta just shakes his head and takes his stance. Shouldn't be too hard.


	8. Chapter 8: Which Father to Which Baby?

**Chapter 8: Which Father to Which Baby?**

Life continues on like this. Peeta and I continue to teach each other the tricks of our respective trades. As we do, we grow ever closer as friends. Our time together becomes something close to idyllic.

That is, until I wake up one morning in the bed we share and run into the bathroom to throw up.

I don't think anything of it, at first. Probably just a bad stomach bug. Maybe I ate a loaf of bread that nobody knew had gone bad. I have been gorging myself on carbs lately, provided that my mother-in-law does not catch me occasionally sneaking from our stocks.

When the sickness does not let up for several mornings, however, I go to my mother following a hunt and explain my symptoms. Instantly, her brow creases in worry.

"Have she been sleeping with Peeta regularly?" she asks straight out.

In the context of regular, platonic sleeping, the answer to that question is yes. In the context of love-making, the answer is... no. Peeta and I have not come together since our rather violent lovemaking on our wedding night weeks ago. That fateful night before that other fateful night...

But when I try to tell all of this to my mother, I find that no sound can come out. Sighing, my mother goes to her medicine cabinet and comes back with a simple pregnancy test. Taking it and her silent order, I go into the bathroom and follow the instructions. Then I wait.

The results come back positive. As soon as my mother sees the the plus sign and coloring, she clears away everything off of our kitchen table and lays me down on it. Prim fetches a very futuristic contraption from the basement. I have seen it before - something from the Capitol that my mother uses on most of her pregnant patients.

"It's called a sonogram," Mother explains as she hooks me up to it. Squeezing a gooey-like substance against a red square, she begins to rub it over my belly. On the video monitor next to us, fuzzy images move in and out, but there definitely is _something_ there. _More_ than one something, in fact. I tremble in terror. Whatever it is, I know it is something I have never wanted, and vowed that I would never have.

The sonogram thingy beeps incessantly, and a printed readout suddenly spits forth from the machine. I can't read it from where I'm lying flat on my back on the table, but Mother does, keeping the paper close to her chest. Her eyes widen.

"Primrose, go to your room, lock the door and stay there!" her voice leaving no room for argument.

"What?" I gasp, feeling as though she is anticipating the apocalypse with her cryptic banishment of my sister from the room. "What is it?"

"Katniss..." and I shrink away at the... disappointed gaze in my mother's eyes. "You have three babies growing inside of you. But the DNA results are troubling. Is there something you wish to tell me?" And I know that whatever I tell her, it will not be exactly _what_ happened - the data has likely told her that. It will be a telling of _how_ it happened.

I explain everything. How I forced myself on Peeta on our wedding night when I thought he did not want me. How my anger at his lack of enthusiasm simmered so that I cheated on him, fucking with the Milkman's son. She already knows the part about John and my rape. Now that she has the information, Mother can connect the dots.

"Katniss, you have three babies growing inside of you - from three different fathers."

My mouth falls open. How is that even possible? It must be, if it's happened, but I've never heard of such a thing occurring. Perhaps Mother has, though, with her years of experiencing delivering babies and having gone through pregnancy twice herself.

But apparently it's true. I have three babies in my womb. One sired by the Milkman's son. Another by John. And the third from...

Peeta...

"Is this even possible?"

Mother bites her lip. "I have never such a thing before myself, but I suppose... if a woman is promiscuous enough... and fertile enough..."

I cannot believe it. Is that the answer? Am I really that fertile that I could conceive children with three different men in less than 24 hours?

Finally unhooked from the machine, I still have a lot to process. We agree to not speak a word of this to Prim.

My mother then offers up some advice. "There are ways to terminate a pregnancy. Even if there is more than one fetus."

"You mean abortion?"

"A special _kind_ of abortion. Many Capitol doctors call it selective reduction. Though it's often done if there is one particularly sick baby, to spare the others and the life of the mother. I know you will need to think it over."

I contemplate my mother's offer briefly before realizing there is no way I can do it lying awake in bed next to one of my babies' fathers. I phone Peeta at the bakery and tell him I'll be staying at my family's for the night. He is naturally concerned, and peppers me questions, but I wave them all away, claiming everything is fine.

However, cruel reality has its own ways of reminding you that everything is most definitely _not_ fine.

* * *

 _I have a horrible dream. A dream in which I am hugely pregnant and I stagger into a room to find my husband dead on the floor. I burst into wracking sobs and caress his face, begging Peeta to wake up. "It's... it's me," I plead, tenderly kissing his lips again and again to no avail. Then, I begin to scream..._

* * *

The screaming continues unabated into the waking world, as I emerge into consciousness to find my bedsheets soiled with my own blood. Mother comes running within minutes, harshly locking Prim out before she can follow.

I don't know how I know, but I know that whatever is happening to me, it has something to do with one of the babies.

Mother carries me into the bathtub, where blood and gore gushing from my cervix stain the water red and other sickening colors. Even though I'm in the water, Mother still hooks me up to the sonogram that she now brings, careful not to get anything wet that cannot afford to get wet. The video footage monkey cams dangerously, still blurry. There's the outline of one baby, two...

But not the third.

I wait for the stupid machine to spit out another readout, but nothing happens. Mother must be waiting for something like that, too, for she kicks the machine in frustration.

"Darn thing! It doesn't always load commands properly."

Without the DNA readout, we cannot be sure whose babies live and whose is dead. But I can't process that right now. All I know is that I have only been aware of my impending motherhood for hours and I've already failed. I burst into tears. Mother tentatively puts her arms around me.

"I lost a baby once," Mother says. "You were small - maybe 2 years old. Your father and I were so devastated, because..." She stops herself, and I wonder what she was about to say, but then didn't. "... and we had to tell you a baby died in Mommy's tummy. It just wasn't meant to be, but the silver lining is that... when we tried again... Primrose was born."

I whimper against her chest. It's small comfort, but comfort nonetheless, to know my own mother has shared in, and can empathize with, my pain.

"Katniss, I need to ask you something very important: if it turns out your husband's baby is one of the survivors... will you tell him?"

I sniffle, wiping my nose across my wet arm. "Yes. He's a kind boy. A good _man_ ," I correct myself. "Oh, Mama, what have I done to him?!"

And I bawl into my mother's embrace as she holds me the rest of the night.


	9. Chapter 9: Sense of Safety

**Chapter 9: Sense of Safety**

When I return to the bakery, squeaky clean, the next morning, I fear that Peeta will notice something is off. But he doesn't. Or if he does, he keeps it to himself, leaving me to my private thoughts.

After making sure the bakery is up and running, we both leave for school. Even though we're both married (and even though I'm now pregnant!) we still are expected to complete our education. Approaching the building, I am struck by a sudden fear: as I progress in my pregnancy, everyone will find out eventually. But even before that happens, what if I have to go to the nurse, for a totally unrelated reason, and they stumble upon the finding themselves, even before I am beginning to show? Word would spread quickly.

I decide to try and distract myself from these thoughts by attempting my normal school-day routine. Go to my classes. Take my notes. Eat with Madge at lunch. She is enjoying being married to Thom, and I begin to suspect that their marriage will become official through a toasting once the 100 days come to a close.

I even chat with Gale, my best friend, by our lockers before our last class. Peeta is also in the course with us.

"It's good to see you're doing well, Catnip." He gives me a platonic embrace.

Or at least, he goes for one. I can't help it. It's almost instinctive. I flinch back in terror, my eyes going wide like a prey just before a kill.

"Whoa, whoa, easy! What's wrong?"

"Gale!" a voice barks, and my husband is suddenly at my side. "Is everything all right?" Peeta's gaze is hard.

"Uh... yeah," Gale offers. Unable to offer an explanation where even I can't find one myself, besides feeling obviously uncomfortable, he ducks inside our classroom. Peeta and I follow.

This class does not go as well as the others. I grow antsy from the cramps in my tummy that make me feel as though I really have to go the bathroom. When I at last can't take it anymore, I make a beeline for the girl's restroom, without even waiting for a hall pass from my teacher. I barely make it to the toilet.

Upon my return, our teacher is trying to quiet the laughter of some very raucous girls. One of them, a blonde and popular Merchant, actually directs her amusement at me:

"So who's the father, Seam slut? Or is there more than one?"

I nearly blanch at the last question, but no, she could not realize, so I brush it off. But her derogatory name - elitist as they come - fuels me with rage.

"My husband - a Merchant who would rather have me than the likes of you!" I bite back, and find myself almost smiling triumphantly. The blonde bimbo's mouth falls open in shock. So, for that matter, does Peeta's. My friend, Delly, only makes it clearer whose won this jousting match of words by bursting into applause on my behalf.

The bell mercifully rings, and I turn on me heel and sweep out the door. I am halfway back to the bakery before Peeta jogs up behind me, out of breath.

"I... I don't believe it! You're pregnant?! And why didn't you tell me?!"

It's horrible, isn't it? That the way I let him know about this milestone was almost through a sort of code during a girls' vicious catfight? Aside from the fact that it's not the whole truth, I don't even know if my husband is still the father of any baby at all! But I can't tell him all of this. Not without revealing more than he needs to know, or would even care to know.

"I promise to you, Katniss, I'll do whatever I can to help the baby!"

 _Baby_. In the singular. I keep the anguish that is already beginning its reign of torment deep down. I absentmindedly rub my abdomen.

"I know you will."

"How? And why did you stick up for me back there?"

It's sweet of him to think that I was protecting him. And maybe I was, along with protecting myself.

"Because you love our child. You love me. You love _us_. Nothing else matters."


	10. Chapter 10: Tell Me You Feel Nothing

**Chapter 10: Tell Me You Feel Nothing**

The sun is high in the sky by the time I enter the bakery's back alley after hunting one morning. The amount of fresh game has been plentiful, my hauls becoming larger and larger as the months become warmer. It only makes me worry if my illegal dealings will be caught by the Peacekeepers.

This concern only makes me appreciate that I married a baker. Whenever I come home with extra meat that I need to get rid of or otherwise hide, he and his family have been more than willing to take it off my hands. Today is no different, as he greets me in the alley and admires all I have brought.

"I'll bake some of this into our pies - make meat pies! And the squirrels can go into our personal stock for meals!" he expresses, loading the extra trappings into one of our freezer lockers.

I throw my arms around him. "Oh, thank you, Peeta!" After a long moment, we disentangle from the embrace. Peeta is blushing.

I don't know what makes me say it now, when he's obviously so vulnerable. I bite my lip. "I'm not going to deny that I have feelings for you."

Peeta's eyes whip up to mine, shocked. "Katniss, I... I don't think this is an appropriate conversation..." Though I have a sneaking suspicion that his feelings are very much the same.

"Look me in the eyes, and tell me you feel nothing!" I counter almost angrily.

Peeta refuses to meet my gaze. "This is extremely inappropriate..."

I have him. Smiling seductively, I drift closer. "Tell me you feel nothing, and I'll never mention it again."

"I would not be able to act on these... feelings... even if they existed..." Peeta almost growls the words.

What is he going on about? We're _married_ , for Panem's sake! Pulling him to me, I kiss him, my one hand brushing his jawline. With the other, I grope for his balls, and I fondle them in my hand. Peeta pushes me away.

"No!" he croaks, his eyes wide. "We cannot do this!"

"Please!" I beg. "I need this! I care for you. I feel safe with you. When I'm with you, I don't feel afraid..."

He turns away from me, so I literally throw myself at him, trying to make him understand through my kisses.

"Katniss... we need to stop..."

"Why are you resisting?"

"It's not... we just need to stop..." He pulls back.

"What are you talking about...?"

Peeta whirls back around. "I don't have a leg, okay?!" he yells, his face red.

I jerk back, my mouth clamping shut momentarily as I digest his words. "Huh?" I wonder out loud almost stupidly. He angrily lifts up his left pant leg.

Revealing a steel-gray prosthetic that extends from his shoe and disappears beneath the cuff of his pants.

I have never noticed it before, the way his pants pucker around his left leg just barely, hanging limply in the extra space where his calf and shin should be. But I do know where it probably came from. A few years ago, the bakery suffered a terrible fire. The whole Mellark family got out OK, but Peeta missed some school due to being in the hospital. At the time, I suspected he had suffered some burns, but I never knew just how badly and far-reaching they were. I blink at his prosthetic a few times, swallowing thickly, before I turn my eyes to his face. "So?"

With a huff, Peeta drops his pants leg. "Don't pretend to be so flip, Katniss," he says in agitation.

I curl my lip into an exasperated snarl. "What does your leg have to do with anything? With you and me—"

"Girls don't want to have sex with an amputee," he answers, his voice tight. "I've dealt with this since I was a kid, okay? The looks of disgust, of pity, anytime they see it, God forbid if they have to _touch_ it."

I blink as I suddenly flashback to the one time we _have_ had sex. "Is that why you didn't want me to sleep with you on our wedding night? Because of your leg?" Peeta does not respond one way or the other, but he doesn't need to. I can see it in his eyes.

I harrumph. "Well, I'm not like other girls, Peeta. I don't have high standards like that, because until I met you, no other man even made me interested, much less wet. In fact, I am impressed by your leg; it shows you're a survivor. And it doesn't take much to impress me."

He exhales raggedly, running both his hands through his curls and tugging. "I'm doing you a favor, okay? I'm tired of seeing the same look on every girl's face before she suddenly remembers she has somewhere to be or has to be up early. I'm giving you an out now so you don't have to be the bad guy."

I glare at him before I shake my head violently. He still doesn't get it. And what's all this about giving me an out? Again: we're _married_! He's stuck with me. And the shocking thing is, maybe I am beginning to _want_ him to be stuck with me. "You know, the only unattractive thing about you, Peeta, is this whole martyr act." He sighs, and the sound is tinged with frustration, but I don't give him the chance to respond.

I kiss him again.

I consume him, really. All lips and tongue and teeth. I must catch him off-guard because he stumbles slightly, back into the alley wall, taking me with him. It is all he can do to sit on a trashcan. I sink to my knees, kneeling between his parted legs, and I have to break the kiss as I reach for his pants.

"What are you—what are you doing?" he gapes at me as I unfasten his pants and work the zipper down.

"Showing you you're wrong," I growl, slipping a hand into the slit of his boxer-briefs to pull his cock out. He gasps, his shaft thickening as blood rushes to his groin with the quick pumps of my hand. I rub him faster, willing him to grow to me. Even if he is not compelled for me to have relations with him, his manhood certainly will.

"I told you I don't want pity—"

I pause only briefly to glare up at him. "It's not pity." And I mean it. Peeta is the first person I will have willingly fucked with. At least willingly fucked with when I didn't posses my own hidden agenda. And even if I was more ambitious in my sexual aspirations, I would not just fuck any guy out of pity. I would fuck a guy because I want to fuck him.

His eyes are wide and disbelieving, his mouth parted but silent, and he just watches me as I take him into my mouth as deep as I can. I inhale his penis so much, in fact, that I gag slightly and have to pull back.

"God—Katniss," he chokes out. "Someone—someone could—what if someone sees?"

The alley is deserted save for us. Besides, most of our sexually active peers go to the Slag Heap across town for a quick screw. Whether others appear or not, whether others see me sucking Peeta Mellark's dick like a baby would a bottle, I don't care either way. I'll work fast.

I let my saliva pool in my mouth before I begin sucking earnestly, bobbing my head up and down. I only know as much as I have heard from girls in the Hob, whispering over liquor. I try to be efficient without being clumsy or rough. How successful I am in this endeavor is unclear, as Peeta's only response is a guttural groan that he must try to stifle with his hand because the sound stops suddenly, his hard, pained breathing drowned out by the slurping noises of my mouth moving on his dick. I wrap my hand around his base to pump him, pulling back on his cock with my mouth so I can look up at him through my eyelashes. He's watching me, his face red, his nostrils flared, his black pupils swallowing his irises.

"Ohmmmmmmm..." I moan and slide him farther into my mouth. My eyes flutter shut, and I tenderly cup his balls with my free hand.

I swirl my tongue around his head, even lolling it out to lick the upper reaches of his shaft, before teasingly catching my bottom teeth on the underside, scraping there. I hear Peeta inhale sharply and pant out a curse. I nearly choke on him as I let out a gargled squeal, at the feel of his fingers weaving into my hair, digging into my scalp. Peeta is holding me in place as he frantically humps his center full into my face, jiggling his cock further into my mouth, down my throat - so deep that the head is touching the back of my esophagus. With my lips completely sealed around his entire shaft, my other hand is now free, and I snake it around him. I pet his backside, caress it before giving each cheek a squeeze. All the while, my right palm flexes, compresses, molds his balls.

I don't realize he's cumming until the first spurt of semen hits my uvula without warning. My mouth quickly floods with his juices, even overflowing as some dribbles out of whatever remaining space is between my lips and his penis. I cough up spittle around him but tighten my grip, pushing my tongue up to stop the passage of his cum before I can swallow it just yet. I need to prepare my gullet, to gulp down every last drop of the semen he surrenders to me.

There is a lot of cum. I dutifully swallow it with each pulse of his cock, my hand now off his balls and curled into a fist, pressed to my lips to catch any errant semen that my mouth can't on its own. Once his cock begins to soften, sag in my mouth, spent, I finally release him, running my tongue down his shaft with a parting lick, then around my lips and wiping the back of my hand across my mouth. I lean back on my thighs to look at him, observe my handiwork. For someone who had heretofore had no oral interactions with any manhood, I feel quite proud of myself. Even if Peeta didn't warn me about when he was going to explode in my throat. The baker's son is staring at me wide-eyed, flustered and reeling, like he's not sure what has just happened.

There's amazement layered in there too. Awe.

My face and body soften, relax and I tenderly tuck him back into his pants. "Next time, let me know when you're about to cum."

He breathes hard, his eyebrows lifting weakly. "Next—next time?"

I climb to my feet. "Next time we do this."

Licking his lips, he swallows thickly but eventually nods. "When...?"

I straighten up. "You'll know when it happens."

I gasp when I suddenly feel Peeta's hands take me by my waist and pull me flush against him. My eyes grow wide, but I don't have time to make a sound before he crushes his lips to mine in a deep kiss.

"Ughmmmmmmm..." I let out a muffled croak, which soon turns into a moan. "Mmmmmmm..." Peeta's lips slant over mine, and I open them to him. Soon he is kissing me with tongue, teeth, pushing nearly both into my mouth and down my throat. It's as if he means to swallow my lips, my face, whole.

I feel his hands wander, heavily sliding down my butt as he pets it, caresses it. He cups one cheek, then the other in each palm, before brazenly scooping my one thigh as he brazenly raises me leg to his waist. Peeta lifts me off my feet, and - still kissing - we half-stumble, half-slam into the opposite wall. I feel something violently hump my center.

"Mmmm! Mmmm!" I squeal at the hard organ jerking up against me. _He wants me. He wants to have sex with me!_

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" he cries.

I just bite my lip and shake my head. "Don't be..."

"Were you afraid? Of me? Just then?"

"No... not of you! It's stupid..." I can't explain it, really. How he makes me feel. How his every smile and movement has driven me up a wall, and not in an angry way.

And yet Peeta seems to understand everything that I cannot find the words to express. "It's not stupid; it's natural. Let me take away your fears..."

And sweeping me into his arms, he carries me bridal-style upstairs above the bakery and takes _me_ to bed this time...

* * *

 **A/N: And, I think we'll pause there for the moment. Wow! That enough of a teaser for you? I made the executive decision to streamline several of the chapters in my outline, as well as what was originally Chapters 8 and 9. We're now two-fifths of the way through. REVIEW! Thanks for your devotion!**


	11. Chapter 11: Annulment or Toasting?

**Chapter 11: Annulment or Toasting?**

By now, I have accepted without reservation that I have fallen hopelessly in love with Peeta Mellark. And he with me. The best part is? He is _mine_. I am his. Anything else is unthinkable.

We now do more than just regular sleeping in the bed we share. We make passionate love every. single. damn. night. And also in the day. And sometimes even after the lunch rush hour for the bakery.

One night, we Mellarks are having dinner together as a family. Along with accepting Peeta as the romantic focal point of my life, I come to accept that - when it comes to the Mellarks - I am one of them now. Peeta's family is my own now. Or at least part of it.

We are just finishing up our meal when Mrs. Mellark gets an odd little smile on her face. I brace myself for anything - my mother-in-law almost never smiles unless it is for the pleasure at someone else's pain. Or administering that pain herself.

"By my estimations, I would say you and Peeta have been married for 100 days... starting tomorrow."

The table falls silent. I note how Rye is glaring daggers at his mother for her comment, but too late. The volley has already been sent, and it has found its mark. For she's absolutely right. Tomorrow will mark 100 days since I became Mrs. Peeta Mellark. Starting tomorrow, I could legally become Ms. Katniss Everdeen again, if I wanted to.

My face falls. "Oh..." Then my sadness turns into panic. Does Mrs. Mellark want me to divorce her son? Does she expect me to? And what would she do to Peeta, if I did? Something awful, I'm sure.

My mother-in-law's not-so-casual observation effectively ruins the rest of the meal. As soon as we are able, Peeta and I clear our places before bidding the others good night. Then we go up to our room and collapse into our bed. Without needing to say anything, Peeta wraps me in his arms.

"I don't want to ponder if this is the last night I get to hold you like this. And I know that's not my call to make. Katniss... no matter what you decide to do from tomorrow on forward, I'll understand."

I cling to him, nearly scowling at his words. Always the chivalrous one. Why can't he be selfish when it comes to me for once in his life? Lord knows I've been selfish for many times in my life, but only because I did not trust the inherent goodness in this world; I didn't even see it. Peeta has shown me that. And I don't want him to stop showing me.

"Peeta, I want to marry you... again. If you'll have me. I want to go to the Justice Building and renew our contract. And I want a toasting."

I must sound like a greedy child with the number of requests I throw at him in succession, for Peeta laughs - a deep, glorious sound. Then, I feel him pull me on top of him and he kisses me soundly. I keep him pinned beneath me, his lips glued to mine, until he has to squirm away to reach for the phone.

"Best call your mother now before she and Prim go to sleep. We'll have a busy day tomorrow."

* * *

Perhaps I should have thought it unrealistic - even unfair - to spring another wedding on my family on such short notice. But Peeta and I don't want to take any chances, especially when it comes to all the necessary legal paperwork.

By mid-morning the very next day, I am in my mother's room with her and Prim beside me, as they fuss over me in my mother's old wedding dress. With shaking hands, I affix the veil to my head. I shouldn't be as nervous as I am - I'm only marrying the love of my life. And it's for a second time; a mere formality, really.

In the mirror, I see my mother crying, even as she wears a beaming smile on her face. From the look that passes between us, I can tell what she is thinking. She was right all along. My feelings _did_ change. Like my parents before me, I fell in love when I did not think it was possible. And it was not even scary, as my younger self may have surmised - or as I would have surmised even a mere 100 days ago. Falling in love was a happy affair. One I don't want to end.

When everything is ready, Mother and Prim guide me through town to the Justice Building, holding up the back of my wedding train. I ignore all the onlookers - all of them stunned nearly to a man. I guess they assumed I would be going to sign divorce papers the first chance I got, not renew my vows.

Peacekeepers usher us inside, leading us down a beautiful hallway to the Chief Clerk's office. The only people there are Peeta - so handsome in his suit - and his family. I am glad the ceremony is intimate in this way, with relatives only. The room is small enough as it is.

The Chief Clerk presents us with a brand-new marriage contract, and I can't sign my name fast enough. I do not put down Katniss Everdeen, though. I put down Katniss Mellark. Katniss Mellark is who I have been for the last three and a half months or so. Katniss Mellark is who I will remain as - for the rest of my life. After sharing a simple kiss, Peeta and I are assigned a house right on the border between Merchant and Seam. I find the location highly poetic, if I do say so myself. Also, a relief - no longer will we have to live above the bakery and have Peeta's mother breathing down our necks. We will return there when she and the Baker retire, and we formally take over the family business.

Our group proceeds joyously to the new house, where a crowd of friends and well-wishers already awaits us. I don't know who leaked the location of our new residence, but then again, perhaps it is the only empty house that was available. Good old process of elimination.

Now here is where the real ceremony begins. As what seems like the whole of District 12 signs a traditional marriage song, Peeta sweeps me off my feet and carries me across the threshold. Upon kissing and then setting me down, everyone cheers.

The house then fills to the brim with guests. There is music - one of Gale's friends from the mines is a skilled fiddler - and traditional District 12 folk dancing. As one particularly lively song concludes, a booming voice rises above the crowd:

"WHERE SHOULD ALL OF THIS GO?" Everyone looks around to see a strangely half-groomed Haymitch Abernathy standing in the doorway. Behind him, he seems to be lugging some kind of cart. I turn back to my husband and raise one eyebrow, unamused. He grins sheepishly.

"All right, you caught me: I invited him."

"I'm not surprised," I hiss privately at Peeta, not wanting to come off as rude to our friends and neighbors. "You invited the whole damn _district_ , apparently! But why _him_? You know he's..."

"Drunk? Yes, I'm well aware. That's actually the reason _why_ I invited him. He said he'd provide the refreshments."

And does he ever! Crates and crates of - what else? - champagne. Yet, interestingly, the famous drunk does not touch a single drop throughout the whole reception. He remains especially sober whilst Peeta and I stoke our fireplace, toast a loaf of bread over the small flames and seal it with a kiss. No one in Twelve feels really married until after a toasting. As I kiss my husband, I can feel the Victor's eyes trained on me, for some reason. Peeta and I break apart with a smile, ignoring the cheers around us.

"We're married," I smile at him with relish.

The grin does not leave my face even as I fall asleep after a furious consummation of our marriage in our new double bed.


	12. Chapter 12: You Lied Out of Pity!

**Chapter 12: You Lied Out of Pity!**

Except for the trappings of our new home, life continues on just as it did before. Sure, Peeta and I have a longer commute to the bakery whereas before, the only commute was traipsing down the stairs.

But it is a small price to pay for the happiness that is now all ours. All things being equal, it now takes roughly the same time to go visit my family as it does for Peeta to visit his. On one such visit to Mother and Prim's, my mother suggests that she do a quick check-up on my proceeding pregnancy. My husband watches in fascination as I lie back on the kitchen table, and Mother hooks up the sonogram. As the gel is rubbed over my belly, Prim points out to Peeta the grainy outlines of the babies on the screen. My husband stares in wonder.

I only am just remembering that there are now only two babies where there used to be three, and that not all of them have my husband's blood running through their veins, when the machine suddenly spits out a readout. Peeta retrieves the paper before my mother can, but only in his excitement and because he doesn't know any better about how it works.

I watch in terror as he reads the data line by line. With each sweep of his eyes, his brow narrows, the muscles in his face and jaw tensing. At last, he crumples the sheet in his fist and stalks out of the house, slamming the door behind him. I don't see even see so much as the look in his eyes, but I don't have to. He knows the truth. And I know he's mad. My heart plummets into my stomach, for the answer I had been dreading ever since I discovered my pregnancy has just been given.

I practically roll of the table as I hurry to dress myself and race after him. "Peeta, wait!"

It takes several calls of his name for him to even respond to me. But when he finally does, it is both sweeping and chillingly direct.

"Can you explain to me why there are two babies... and neither one of them is listed as saying, 'DNA of Father: Peeta Mellark'?"

I want to burst into tears. So it's true. The third baby - _our_ baby - is the one that I miscarried. The one that didn't make it.

Like months before with my mother, it all spills out. There is not much to tell this time: Peeta already knows of our first wedding night tryst, and my rape under John. He does not register either of those. He doesn't even seem to register the fact that I cheated on him with the Milkman's Son, but that does not appear to be his focus for now. Issues over my unfaithfulness will be dealt with later. But what will be dealt with now is -

"So there was no baby that was just ours?"

"No, Peeta, there was! That's what I've been telling you! I miscarried it!"

"So what you mean by that is, you _knew_! You _knew_ the baby that died was mine, and you didn't tell me?!"

"That's not what I meant at all! Mother and I tried to get the DNA results as soon as I miscarried, but the machine didn't work!"

"Oh, well, _that's_ convenient!" Peeta sneers sarcastically.

"It's the truth!" I gawk in outrage.

"Is it? Cause you wanna know what also seems terribly convenient, Katniss? Our marriage. Not the first one, the other one!" he cuts across me before I can get a word in edgewise. "Is _that_ why you married me? Out of _pity_? To _spare_ me?"

"Well, pot: meet kettle! I seem to recall you married me the first time to spare _me_! From other men!"

"Yeah, and look how well that turned out, Katniss! You still got your little tit for a tat anyway! Did you really think I would raise the _bastard_ offspring of some other men? And here I thought you were so _pure_!"

I gasp in disbelief. "I married you because I fell in _love_ with you! Not the first one, the other one!" Now it's my turn to flip his words back onto him. "100 days or not, it was all _real_ , Peeta!"

"Yeah, I thought it was too: especially the part about the baby," Peeta growls, his voice low. He still doesn't believe me - and it cuts me to the quick as my husband turns and storms up the path to the bakery.

* * *

As a huntress, I know when not to pursue my prey too aggressively. I know how to wait and let it come to me. Bearing that in mind, I leave Peeta alone as much as possible. Aside from still sharing the same bed (though even that has become painfully awkward), I stay out of the house and out of his way whenever I can. It gets to the point where I am practically splitting time between our house and my mother's in the Seam.

The extra amount of time to myself leaves me with plenty of minutes and hours with which to think. As I ponder my current predicament, I go back to the offer my mother made to me months earlier: about getting an abortion. But she had a special term for it... what was it? I can't remember. And anyway, it doesn't matter. Now that I know Peeta's baby no longer cocoons in my womb, should I just abort the remaining fetuses and simply start over? Twisted as it is, it could be a way to show my faithfulness to Peeta. We could start over. Try to have another baby.

When I broach the idea with my mother one morning after a hunt, I am surprised and a little peeved over how quickly she shoots it down.

"I know where your logic is coming from. But this is still impulsive. Right now, I would advise that we don't move on anything relating to the babies. The best thing for you to do right now is to wait and see if feelings between you and Peeta thaw."

"Thaw? Mother, he can barely stand to lie next to me every night! He won't even _talk_ to me!"

"He's _grieving_ , Katniss! I truly believe it is that more than anything else. Yes, you lying to him isn't helping and I'm sure he's still angry about that, too! But give him time."

Perhaps it's because Mother gave me the answer I didn't want to hear, for I pivot over to my little sister next and ask for her advice.

"Mother's being all cautious, and I don't get it. _I_ think it's a good idea, Primrose. How else can I prove my love for Peeta?"

My sister bites her lip. "I think you're going about this the wrong way, Katniss. If you want Peeta to know you love him, you should take as much care in doing so through the little actions, as well as the big ones."

It's hard for me to admit, but even at only twelve, almost thirteen years old... my Little Duck is right.

* * *

I keep waiting for feelings to thaw between myself and Peeta, as my mother predicted they would.

But it's been weeks, and I'm still waiting.

Peeta will still hardly acknowledge my presence. There have been no kisses. Certainly no sex. We haven't even been sharing the same bed anymore; I've taken to sleeping on blankets laid out over the floor just to spare him.

One day, I am at the bakery, keeping the books in the back as my father-in-law showed me, when I feel Peeta's presence besides me. He lays a piece of paper on the desk. At first, I think it's just another billing, but then I peer closer.

It's an application. For a divorce. And Peeta has already signed the dotted line.

"I need you to sign it." His voice is emotionless, and I have no time to raise my eyes to his, much less say anything, before he sweeps out the door.

I sit back in my chair in total shock. Then, I burst into tears. Not only for what I know I have ruined between us, but that Peeta may be taking the right course of action.

Should I do it? Annul a marriage that - mere months ago - I had every intention of doing?

Is this how I can show my love to Peeta? By letting him go?


	13. Chapter 13: We Got It Wrong

**Chapter 13: We Got It Wrong**

A few days after Peeta's ultimatum, I trudge up to my mother's for a routine sonogram check. The readout is produced, and I wait to hear the health of the two babies who are not descended from my husband. The husband who now wants to divorce me. All of a sudden, Mother lets out a shriek.

"What's the matter?" I panic.

But Mother's voice sounds urgently happy. "Katniss! Would you happen to have the readout from your last sonogram check?"

As it happens, I do, and I quickly hand it over. Mother looks from one readout to another, comparing the data. Then, she lets out another shriek of excitement.

"This old readout is wrong! It's wrong on the data! And... on the DNA of your children!"

I gape. "But how?" So befuddled am I that I find myself staring daggers at the sonogram machine, an inanimate object. As if it's the machine's fault for getting the research wrong.

"Katniss... Peeta's baby is alive! The one you miscarried... it was the milkman son's."

I stare. "Are you certain?" I all but whisper.

"Positive. The new readout has given us the correct data. Remember how the sonogram wouldn't work the night you miscarried?"

That means something must have still been wrong with it during my visit with Peeta, and that's why it got the DNA testing incorrect.

This revelation does not change the fact that there are still two babies inside of me. Just their identities. One, it turns out, is Peeta's. The other...

I blanch. The fetus sired by John is still alive. I am still carrying my rapist's child.

And he has no idea.

"This is about John's baby, isn't it?" I look up to find Mother's knowing gaze on me. "Honey... if you want, I can perform a selective reduction."

I clutch at my womb as if that will protect the babies within. "Will it hurt Peeta's child?"

"Heavens, no! I can make sure it would... affect John's baby, and only John's baby." I must still look unconvinced, for she adds gently, "Nobody has to know."

No. She's wrong. Somebody _does_ have to know. Somebody who, at this very moment, is sitting useless in the Peacekeepers' barracks, the father of an unborn child, and he doesn't even know it. He has a right to know. He has a right to input.

"I..." I gulp. "I want to talk to him. First."

* * *

A few days later, Mother phones me at the bakery, telling me to report to the Peacekeeper barracks that afternoon. She said she managed to work some connections that would allow me to see John, and speak with him for a brief time. I do not know how Mother managed to arrange such a meeting, although I suspect Haymitch Abernathy may have had something to do with it. He's the only District 12 resident allowed to get anywhere near the Peacekeepers and their political apparatus, and Mother is friends with his washerwoman, Hazelle Hawthorne, Gale's mother.

When I report to the Peacekeeper barracks in back of the Justice Building later that afternoon, it is Head Peacekeeper Cray who lets me in. He leads me down a gray, dimly lit stone hallway. Steel doors line the walls on either side. This place looks more like a prison than a military barracks, but I don't voice these thoughts aloud.

Straight ahead lies a door at the very end of the hallway. Cray opens it and ushers me in, but he does not follow. Instead, he slams the door behind me.

The room itself cannot be bigger than 4 feet by 4 feet. A simple table and one ordinary chair sit in the center of the room. The whole scene is dimly lit by a solitary lamp suspended from the ceiling.

And across from the table, in a robotic chair, is an otherwise frozen John. I gasp. My rapist, reduced to the most vulnerable human condition imaginable, only stares blankly back.

"Can... can you speak?"

His silence is my answer, but I at least expected him to move his head in a Yes or No fashion. Yet he does not do this, either. I thought I would be able to communicate with him in _some_ way. I get an idea.

"I'll try to stick to simple explanations and questions. Blink once to say you understand, twice to answer yes, three times for No."

John blinks once. He understands.

"John... I don't know how to tell you this, but... I'm pregnant. With your child."

I see his eyes widen significantly, and he barely remembers to blink once to indicate his comprehension.

"I just want you to know that..." I begin to feel my eyes fill with tears. "I forgive you. For what you did. But... I don't know if I can keep the baby. You might be... frozen... like this, but you are the father. You still deserve input. Whether you want me to carry the baby to term or not, I will respect your wishes."

I hear something that sounds like an odd choking noise, and I look up from where I had been speaking into my lap to see tears streaming down John's cheeks. What's more, he's blinking his eyes multiple times. I try to follow each blink, one by one, to decipher his answer. I finally get it, and nod once.

John has conveyed to me his wishes, and I will uphold them.

I quietly rise to leave. "Goodbye," I whisper. Then, I close the door behind me.

* * *

As soon as possible, I return to my Mother. She performs a selective reduction, aborting John's baby from my womb. Only one child - the child of my husband - now remains.

Printing out a new, genuine DNA readout as well as a sonogram picture of Peeta's and my baby, I hurry back to Peeta's and my house.

It is night by now, so I dare not enter for fear of waking Peeta. Besides, rousing him from his bed will not do. To prove my love for him, I have something else in mind.

I stand beneath our bedroom window and throw stones at the panes until Peeta appears at the sill. Now that I have his attention, I pull out the divorce papers.

Both of our signatures are on it; I had signed them before seeing Mother, as an act of love, to set Peeta free. But that fact is moot at this point. For then, I whip out a cigarette lighter, ignite the flame and burn the documents before my husband's eyes.

Peeta comes thundering outside immediately. "What the hell do you think you're doing -?"

I stop him by silently thrusting the sonogram picture and new DNA results into his hand. He stares at both for a long moment before swallowing thickly. His eyes well up.

"What was that you said about... it being all real? 100 days or not?"

I grin hugely. "Well, I figured: what the hell?"

Dropping the documents to the ground, Peeta and I embrace and share a passionate kiss, our engaged lips illuminated in the firelight of the burning divorce papers also cast aside.


	14. Chapter 14: Fabric, Moods, Cravings, Etc

**Chapter 14: Fabric, Moods, Cravings, Etc.**

Happily in love and together again, Peeta and I proceed to do everything necessary in preparation for our baby to enter the world.

One of our first errands involves a visit to the Hob to buy fabrics for the baby's nursery. I insist on going to the Seam black market because I know the people. Plus, I know the prices will be a lot cheaper. Peeta and I need to start managing our finances as wisely as we can, and finding still-quality goods at half the price or even less is just one great way to do that. Peeta just smiles, going along for the ride.

"You're the expert," he tells me.

Our first trip is during lunch break at the bakery one day. Slipping out the back door, we steal down the alley and make our way over to the Hob. After years of dealings and trading game here, I have the layout of the place memorized by now, and drag Peeta over to the fabric racks.

"It's lovely, sweetheart! All these wonderful old pieces! Antiques!"

I blush at Peeta's compliments. Hand-me-downs might be a more accurate description. But it warms my heart that Peeta does not judge the amenities I was used to growing up. It's nice that I get to show him my world. Spying a lovely shade of blue, which would be great for a boy, I point up high. "Think you can grab that for me, my love?"

Peeta has to actually climb the rack to reach the roll I want, scrambling up the thing as expertly as a monkey. It's climbing back down that's more challenging, but my husband is careful. Just before he reaches a comfortable place to drop to the ground, a hand reaches out.

"I gotcha." Peeta takes it blindly and leaps lightly to the floor.

"Thanks." He looks up, as do I, to see that it's Gale Hawthorne. He just shrugs.

"I was in the neighborhood, saw you guys and... thought you might need a hand."

Sensing an opportunity, I amicably step between the two men with a smile. "You know, you guys have never been properly introduced! Gale, this is my husband, Peeta."

Gale just gives a deep belly laugh. "So, you're the gentleman who knocked up my best hunting partner, huh? I might have known it was you!"

Peeta chuckles back, and the two men shake hands.

* * *

A little over halfway there. Goddam it to hell, I'm only a little over halfway there!

This, the middle of my second trimester, has been the hardest stretch of my pregnancy to date. My belly is very pronounced, and I am already seeing changes in the way I have to move. I am slower, more clumsy than I usually am. I am even starting to waddle! Waddle! The indignity of it all!

It is an otherwise peaceful Saturday afternoon, and Peeta and I are starting to clean up our room while still getting ready for the day (we sleep late on the weekends). At my vanity, I test a shirt in the mirror, before changing it out for a new one. There! This one is much better. Until I realize….. DAMN IT!

I turn around, now decent, to see Peeta sweeping on the other side of the room. He doesn't even notice the calamity I'm in! I clear my throat and he finally looks back to me.

"Peeta….." I ask, the calm barely holding the chaos at bay. "Whose shirt is this?"

He grimaces, puzzled at what he obviously must think is such a silly question. "Ummm….. yours?" Then he looks again. "Wait….. you're wearing _my_ shirt!"

"EXACTLY!" I scream at him, finally exploding.

And then Peeta commits what I would classify in this moment as a cardinal sin. He bursts out laughing. A pleased grin plasters his face. "You're wearing my shirt!" and he seems rather proud.

"I DON'T THINK IT'S FUNNY, PEETA! AND IT ISN'T FUNNY, BECAUSE NOTHING I OWN FITS!" I tear off his shirt and fling it into the closet. Were it working properly, the rational part of my brain would definitely tell me I am getting way too worked up over this, but I don't care. How _dare_ he think this is a moment to laugh or puff up his manly chest as if this is some…..accomplishment! Doesn't he see that….. oh God…..

The roller coaster ride I'm now on hurtles me into a new realm, and I suddenly want to bawl like a child. I refuse to do this in front of Peeta, though - unlike _him_ , I still have my pride! So instead, I just pout.

"I'm ugly," and my voice comes out in a whine.

" _What_?" Peeta splutters, seeming genuinely incredulous.

I march back to my vanity mirror and throw my arms out as best I can. "Look at me!" I spit. "I'm _fat_ and I'm _ugly_! There! I said it so you don't have to! I look like one of the stupid pigs in your parents' backyard!"

I hear Peeta chuckling behind me, and I am just about to light into him again when his voice stops me:

"Katniss. You are the most beautiful creature I've ever seen."

I stare at him, at a loss for words. Did he really just call me _beautiful_? I self-consciously tug at my braid and look away.

Peeta chuckles again, a low, rumbling, glorious sound. "There. I said it so you don't have to." I would ordinarily laugh at his turning my own words back on me, but I can only sniffle. I feel him pull me into his arms, and it does not take any convincing for me to hug him back. "Don't you see, Katniss? You're glowing! I actually find it quite adorable. But what's even more adorable is that you don't even _realize_ you're glowing!"

I turn my head against his chest so I can see our bodies intertwined in the mirror. I wish I could believe what he is telling me. But I can't. And I don't exactly want to think about it right now.

Peeta chuckles again at my expression. "Tell you what. I'll go into town right now and get you some new outfits. I think I've committed your measurements to memory." He kisses me once, very gently, promising to see me later before he slips out the door.

* * *

While waiting for Peeta to return from his errand, I decide to go to the bakery and busy myself in the kitchens, even though it's Saturday. My mother-in-law is rather surprised to see me on a weekend day, but thankfully leaves me alone. Procuring a mound of dough from the stocks, I begin to knead. Not long after, Rye joins me.

I try to pour all of my less positive emotions into my work, but I keep dwelling on the baby and this morning's to-do.

I do not even realize I have been crying with wracking sobs before I feel Rye's presence besides me, and I jump about a foot in the air. I wipe at my eyes desperately, embarrassed that he has caught me in such a vulnerable state.

"Not another word," Rye says to me with big-brother protectiveness. "I'll get him."

Peeta must have either been just coming back from his errand, or came looking for me when he found I was not home, for he is down in the kitchens in minutes. Rye merely pokes his head in to ensure my husband and I have been safely reunited before disappearing upstairs.

Peeta takes me into his arms without a sound, and just holds me as I cry. I don't have to explain anything; he already knows. He knows I would not be displaying such erratic emotions were it not for my pregnancy. I am grateful for his understanding, his non-judgement and his love.

* * *

It's the middle of the night. Peeta and I are tucked safe in our bed back at our house. I wake up not from a nightmare, no, but from a growling in my stomach. I feel an urgency down there, not from physical cramps or anything like that. What I feel is not even really physically tangible.

Whatever it is, this feeling, it is telling me that I have to have lamb stew. And I have to have it now.

I shake at Peeta gently. He doesn't move. Ah. A kiss will do the trick. I press my lips lightly to his, then proceed to pepper the rest of his face with them.

"Peeta? Peeta, wake up!"

My husband lets forth an almost comical snort as he emerges from his deep sleep. "Wha... What is it?" He yawns. "Is it the baby?"

"I'm not sure."

"What do you mean you're not sure?" And Peeta's voice begins to rise in panic. "Don't do this to me, Katniss - we're both exhausted enough as it is!"

"I think it's me. I want lamb stew," I blurt without any forward.

Peeta blinks stupidly. "Huh?"

"I really, really, really want some lamb stew right now," and I give him my sweetest smile.

"Katniss, even if I could give you some lamb stew, I am pretty sure we're all out, last time I checked! Besides, it's..." He checks the bedside table clock. "3:00 in the morning!"

"Peeta..." and my voice is beginning to enter that territory that clearly conveys _Don't test me_. I have tried to be sweet about it, but now the craving is building. If nothing is done about it soon, I will get angry. And Peeta has seen me angry. Though he tries to brush it off and say that I'm beautiful even in such a hostile state, I know he will not want me to become his enemy unnecessarily.

Peeta must realize this too, for he sighs heavily and slides out of bed. "I will check at Greasy Sae's," he concedes, in a tone that wonders how he could really be doing this. Simply throwing a coat over his pajamas, he slips out of our room. A moment later, I hear the front door slam.

I wait five minutes. Then ten. At fifteen minutes, the phone suddenly rings by our bed. I pick up.

"Hello?"

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN SENDING YOUR HUSBAND INTO THE SNOW AND WAKING ME UP AT THREE IN THE MORNING?" It's Greasy Sae, and she's very cross. She screams so loudly, in fact, that I have to hold the phone away from my ear. Even then, though, I can hear knocking on the old Hob woman's door in the background, and Peeta's voice.

"Sae? Sae, are you there?"

"He was asking something about lamb stew!" Sae complains.

"It was me," I gulp sheepishly. "I asked him to because..."

"Cravings?"

I nod, even though she cannot see this action.

"Girl child, I understand. I was pregnant once, too. But next time, try to get a better body clock, and don't wake up a poor old woman. Or risk your husband catching pneumonia!"

By the time Peeta returns with a steaming bowl of lamb stew, which I greedily eat, he looks like an icicle. Said Peeta-cicle falls into our bed without even taking off his overcoat.

* * *

It is a beautiful March day. The last vestiges of winter have melted away to reveal a glorious spring.

I cannot use the same adjective for my body, however. I look like I'm ready to pop. And believe me, I am. I want this baby out!

It's a Saturday morning. Peeta is downstairs, fixing lunch while I am on bed rest in our room. He'll be leaving for his late shift at the bakery in a couple of hours.

Suddenly, I feel a wave of liquid crash around my waist and I look to see fluid pooling around me, soaking the bed. Oh my God!

"PEETA!" He comes running up the stairs, out of breath. He stares when he sees the water. I nod stiffly.

"It's time," I croak out. He leaps into action.

"OK, OK, here we go. Uh…. hospital?"

"No time. How are you going to get me halfway across the district?"

"Your mom? Should I go fetch her?"

"She's on the other side of Twelve."

"Then what?"

"Just get me comfortable," I order. Peeta lifts me gently and scoots me back to the headboard, propping me up with pillows. I eye him pointedly.

"You're going to have to deliver it. Think you can do it?"

Peeta gulps. "I'll try."

I explode, without even knowing why his turn of phrase bothers me. It just does. "TRY?! You WILL! This is our _baby_ , Peeta Mellark! And I swear to you, I will NEVER be this fat ever a….. ARGGHHH!"

The contractions have started. And they don't let up. Not for hours. No doctor, Peeta has to literally guesstimate how close I am to giving birth, amateurishly counting how many contractions I'm having per minute, how much I'm dilated. At last, he can see the baby crowning. The sun is just beginning to set; he won't be going into work tonight; I don't give a damn how upset his mother gets about it.

"All right, Katniss, get ready to push! On my mark! And…. GO!"

I scream bloody murder at the effort. I feel like I'm trying to push out a bowling ball. I can barely hear Peeta giving encouragement through the haze. With the last strength I have, I give another heave. My last scream is matched by a chorus of wails.

Peeta is practically cackling with joy. "You did it, Katniss! It's a boy! He's out! And he's gorgeous! Let me cut the cord….."

Moments later, I feel a bundle being pressed into my arms. The most beautiful baby on the planet is looking up at me, and I begin to hysterically sob.

"Look at you….. Simit," I choke on my own tears. "Simit Estes."

Peeta and I never really discussed baby names. The only mention of it that he had given was that he felt that it was my decision, and would trust what I came up with. I chose Simit months ago because of its origins as a bread name; it is a nice Mellark tradition that I want to keep in the family. Estes is to honor my late father. Seeing how Peeta now reacts to the name that I have given makes it clear that I have his approval.

As I watch Peeta hold our son, I realize the last promise I made to myself has been broken. I never wanted to be a mother. Children were just something to care for too much, only to lose them in the end. But, now watching my son - _my son!_ \- makes me realize just how wrong I was to want to deprive myself of such love.

* * *

 **A/N: Here it is! The middle four chapters. Final chapter count will be two dozen. I streamlined a lot of them, so that none of the chapters are too ridiculously short. Thanks for keeping up! I will update the last ten chapters when I can.**


	15. Part III: Trial, Chapter 15: Arrested

**Part III: Trial**

 **Chapter 15: Arrested**

Peeta and I have been parents for only a few months. The experience has been a mix of both bliss and pain. But together, there is nothing my husband and I cannot accomplish.

One night, the three of us are at the Mellark Bakery so Simit's family can visit with him. Mrs. Mellark has eased up on me a little bit; she is almost nice to me, in fact. Still, her change in behavior has happened only because I gave her a grandchild? Oh, so _now_ I'm good for something?

My rumination about my relationship with my in-laws is interrupted when there is a knock at the door. Handing Simit off to Rye, I answer - and nearly have a heart attack when I see Head Peacekeeper Cray and Vice Peacekeeper Thread standing in the doorway.

"May I help you?" I ask. Both officers brush past me right into the house and approach my husband. Neither one of them answers my query. "What are you doing?" I wonder nervously, trying to get to Peeta, but I am blocked by the mess of bodies in the kitchen.

"Peeta Mellark, you are hereby placed under arrest for crimes against Panem!" Cray recites. Thread pounces on Peeta and handcuffs him. Interestingly, my husband does not fight.

"What for?" an appalled Leven asks.

"We have sufficient evidence to arrest him," Thread explains, even though that isn't the answer for the question my brother-in-law posed. "We have conducted a months-long investigation and determined that Mr. Mellark is responsible for the incapacitation of Peacekeeper John Ballantyne."

I gasp, my face blanching. I had always thought that Cray was mad because he could not identify who saved me from my rape, and that that was the end of it. How did they get the information? Did someone come forward? Was someone bribed? Or worse, tortured? Or did John manage to tell them through creative means? Whatever the methods, my husband is now being dragged out of his family's own house. And for a crime that, while he did commit it, he had every plausible reason to.

The last I see of my husband is his eyes desperately looking back to me and our son before he is shoved out the door.

The door of the bakery has barely slammed before I have seized Simit out of Rye's arms and am grabbing for my shawl.

"Where are you going?" Mrs. Mellark gawps.

"To save your son!" I hiss at her. Honestly, I do _not_ need her shit right now.

I break into a full-on run, a sleeping Simit bouncing in my arms. He does not wake up all the way to the Justice Building. I have just reached the large double front doors, pounding on them and screaming, when a feel another presence join me. It is Steffan, my father-in-law. I am glad he is here, and not his wife. I need support, not harsh resignation. Also, I appreciate the fact that Peeta's dad lets me act as hysterical as I like, screaming and making a scene. It must work, too, for after a time, a Peacekeeper opens the giant doors.

"No one can see the prisoner," he immediately says in a rote monotone, without even bothering to ask who we are or why we have come.

"I am his wife! We have a little baby! At least let Peeta see his son!"

"I am not authorized to conduct any visits between you and the prisoner," the Peacekeeper rebuffs. "Good evening, Mrs. Mellark." And he slams the doors in our faces.

I burst into tears. Steffan pulls me into his arms and rocks me like a father would his daughter.

"Steffan... Steffan... what do we do?" I blubber. "Is there _anything_ we can do?"

The Baker's outlook is anything but sunny. "Not much, I'm afraid. The Peacekeepers defer to Capitol law in high-profile cases like these."

That doesn't sound good. For any normal crimes - even petty ones - District 12 law can have you whipped at the very least, instant death at worst. What greater horrors could Capitol jurisprudence administer? I shudder to imagine.

"But..." the Baker ponders. "There is one thing we possibly _can_ do." He pulls me back to look me in the face, shaking me by my shoulders. "Katniss, I need you to run up to Victors' Village right now, and get Haymitch Abernathy. Tell him what's happened. He might be our one shot to get Peeta out of prison!"

I nod vigorously, handing off Simit to him before taking off at a run. As I sprint along, however, my thoughts are a jumbled mess. _Haymitch Abernathy_? Our one shot? How can that drunk Victor possibly help us? There's only one way to find out...


	16. Chapter 16: Drunk Atticus Finch

**Chapter 16: Drunk Atticus Finch**

By the time I reach the one occupied house in Victors' Village, I am just about out of breath. With the last strength I have, I bang on the door and call with whatever voice is remaining within me.

"Haymitch! Please, open up! It's Katniss - Katniss Mellark? You came to my wedding?"

I hear shuffling inside, followed by the sound of a deadbolt turning, the removal of a latch. The door opens.

Haymitch looks about as unkempt as he usually does: shirt untucked, with the buttons not always matching the right holes. He is unshaven, the brown scruff clashing horribly with the blonde toupee he has taken to wearing in recent years. I'd heard rumors that he went bald due to his experiences in the Games. I suppose there are worse effects one can glean from the arena than simple hair loss. I can smell liquor on his breath.

"Whaadaya want, sweetheart?"

"My husband... Peeta... he's... he's been arrested." I'm still trying to catch my breath.

For some reason, that is all that needs to be said for him to become noticeably more energized. Without another word, the old drunk ushers me inside, checking furtively up and down the street before closing the door. I know he's being careful, but why? It's not like anybody lives here but him. The only other person to dwell here was his mentor, and he's been dead for how many years? I can't remember.

There's a picture of him now, in fact, on a small table to one side of the foyer. Duke Vedaldi, Victor of the 13th Annual Hunger Games. A statue of him stands just outside our school, dedicated just after his death. I wonder if one will be erected for Haymitch someday.

I scurry after Haymitch into what opens up to be the kitchen. At least it should be the kitchen, from what I can barely discern. The floor is littered with garbage, and the table is piled high with liquor bottles. Haymitch simply sweeps this stash off the table and onto the already pigsty of a floor; crashes can be heard as several of the bottles shatter. I wince.

"Come on, come on, sit," Haymitch gestures, and I take a seat across from him. But he gets up not a moment later, and goes to a bookcase in the next room. Through the open door, I observe him pull several books off the shelf. I don't know why this shocks me so much, but it does. Haymitch has activities _besides_ drinking? I must give my thoughts entirely away on my face as he returns, for he smirks.

"What? You think drinking is all I've ever done the last 25 years?"

"But drinking was your talent, right?" I ask. This question isn't facetious or mocking in the least. Upon winning the Hunger Games, every Victor is expected to take up a talent, in lieu of no longer having to work in their districts besides mentoring future tributes.

"You're... divinely intuitive, sweetheart," the old drunk raises a smile to me. "But, no. There is one other thing I put myself towards - and so do many of my fellow Victors, in fact."

I lean forward on my elbows. "What's that?"

"The law," and he flips open the first book, which I can now see is a law textbook. "Having learned many of the Capitol's customs while living there as a tribute and Victor, most Victors get a law degree from a Capitol university. Remotely, of course. Then, if a case comes up in our District, we can act as defense for the accused."

I stare, trying to process all of this. Haymitch Abernathy is a _lawyer_?

"Part-time," he smirks, and I again wonder if he can read my thoughts. Or if my facial expressions are just too easy to decipher.

"Now, before we get down into all the nitty-gritty mumbo-jumbo, why don't you tell me what happened for Hubby to be thrown in the slammer?"

I tell him everything starting from the end of the Hundred Days Union ceremony, right up until Peeta was arrested. The old drunk has an almost impressed look on his face when I regale how I pretty much attacked Peeta on our first wedding night and took him to bed. After skipping my cheating on him with the Milkman's Son and getting to my rape at the hands of John, something odd passes over Haymitch's face. Barely concealed fury - the kind of anger a father would express if it came out that his daughter had been raped. Disturbed at his barely-suppressed explosion, I quickly move on through the saga of my pregnancy, concluding with Peeta being arrested.

"Cray said they had been conducting an investigation for months to find out who disabled John. Somehow, it pointed back to Peeta. And they were right, of course. But..."

"But, he _had_ to attack John. To save you." Haymitch exhales long and low. "OK. I think I now know where to go with this. Our argument is going to be a little unorthodox. But if it works - it'll help everybody."

He rises from the table, and motions to the door. "Get your coat, dear. We're leaving."

"Where?"

He smiles. "To see your husband."

"You can get us in?"

"And hopefully more than that, in fact."

* * *

When Haymitch bangs on the large double doors, and the Peacekeepers answer, they let him in immediately. The Victor only has to tell them that I'm with him for me to go right in on his coattails.

Getting past Cray is the bigger challenge. Haymitch is the only one allowed to enter the Head Peacekeeper's office; I have to wait outside. Even through the solid wood, I can hear shouting and a few curses between the two men. At last, a pissed Haymitch and an amazingly subdued Cray exit.

The Head Peacekeeper promptly leads us down into the basement of the Justice Building. I didn't even know there _was_ a basement here. Perhaps there's also an attic? Wait... is this a dungeon of some kind? Where the prisoners are kept?

But when we reach the lowest level, I do not see cells with bars across the entryways. Only doors leading to rooms lining either side of the hall.

"This is the best we can do for prisoners, I'm afraid," Cray sighs heavily, and he sounds genuinely disappointed. "Not enough Capitol funding for a proper jailhouse."

So that must be why most crimes end in whippings or death. I shudder in anger.

Approaching one door, we can see two Peacekeepers playing a round of cards.

"Got any sevens?"

"Uh-uh. Go Fish."

Cray just chuckles. "Who's winning?"

"Kevin, I think," says the one Peacekeeper. "But does it matter? I'd much rather play something more legit like Blackjack instead."

Cray gesture to us. "Visitors for the prisoner."

Seeing Haymitch, the Peacekeeper named Kevin quickly scrambles to his feet and unlocks the door. I wonder just how much political sway the old drunk holds here. More intriguing, are the Peacekeepers actually _afraid_ of him? I see no reason why they should be - Haymitch is viewed as more of a clown throughout Twelve; harmless, really.

As soon as the door is opened, Cray shoves us both in. "You have thirty minutes."

And there I see him. My husband. In hand shackles which are chained to the floor.

"Oh, thank God!" I choke back a sob and throw myself into his arms, giving him the biggest kiss on the mouth that I can muster.

Peeta smiles when we break apart. "You shouldn't have worried about me! Simit -"

"He'll sleep the night away, just like his father," I smile. "It's _you_ who needs me tonight."

Peeta just grins even more. "If I didn't have these damn cuffs on me, I'd take you on this floor here and now."

I blush furiously.

Haymitch clears his throat loudly, and my husband and I jump apart. Peeta blinks in surprise.

"Mr. Abernathy, sir! I'd shake your hand, but..." He gestures to his hand shackles.

Haymitch chuckles, amused. "No need, boy. Now, we don't have much time, so here's how this is going to work: I ask you a question. You give me a direct answer. Don't give me any more information than you need to. And you -" he turns back to me. "Just listen. This room is bugged."

I have no idea how he possibly knows that, but Haymitch is now launching right in.

"Are they feeding you well?"

"Yes, sir. Twice a day."

Haymitch isn't particularly satisfied with this answer, but he moves on. "Frequent trips to the bathroom?"

"Whenever I have to."

"Can you sleep comfortably?"

Peeta silently demonstrates how he can stretch comfortably out on the floor, the chains leading to his wrists slackening.

"Is there anything else you need?"

"Yes. To get the hell out of here!"

I laugh, and so does Haymitch. "That might not be for a while, boy. But it _will_ happen. I promise you."

I can suddenly hear the key turning in the lock. 30 minutes have passed already? I launch myself at Peeta, deciding they will have to drag me away from him.

"I tell you, I'm not going! I want to stay here! With you!"

But Peeta is having none of it. "You've _gotta_ go home, Katniss! It's the only way! Go home to our son! Don't make this any harder than it has to be!"

I kiss his lips so hard, they might become bruised. "I love you!"

Peeta smiles softly. "I love you back," he whispers.

And I let Cray and Thread force myself and Haymitch out the door, out of the basement and out of the Justice Building.

* * *

A public date for Peeta's trial is set, printed in the newspapers for all of Twelve to see. With only one week to prepare, Haymitch and I hole up in his mansion in Victors' Village, studying around the clock. The rest of Peeta's family take over my duties at the bakery. They even volunteer to do everything for Simit, too, but Haymitch insists that I go be with my son as a way for me to take breaks.

The legal jargon and concepts are hard. Were it not for his Capitol University diploma prominently displayed on one wall, I would wonder how Haymitch managed to get a degree in this stuff, if at all.

Indeed, the old drunk must get frustrated too, for at the end of a brutally long night of studying, he grouchily asks me, "Why are you putting yourself through this, anyway?"

I stare at him, a little ticked off. Isn't he putting himself through this, too? "Peeta saved me. Three times in my life. The least I can do is save his!"

Haymitch blinks and, ashamed, deflates. "You really love him, then?"

"He's my husband. The father of my child. How could I not love him?"


	17. Chapter 17: Blood in the Water

**Chapter 17: Blood in the Water**

The longest week I've ever experienced finally ends. On the day of Peeta's trial, I am overwhelmed to the see the entire courtroom of the Justice Building packed when Haymitch and I arrive. Even the Mellarks, Prim and my mother have front row seats. But I can't focus on that right now. I have a job to do.

The crowd grows hushed as my husband is escorted in chains by Peacekeepers. As soon as he is seated next to me and Haymitch, his attorney, I launch myself into his lap and pepper his face with kisses. I hear someone actually cheer and a smattering of applause. It's as if the trial is already over and with a not-guilty verdict, and oh, how I wish it was! But I still have to make that outcome so.

I grow confused when I see television cameras being brought in. I look to Haymitch in bewilderment, but he looks just as weary.

"Oh, no..." he groans.

I understand his concern right away, for who should appear but Caesar Flickerman himself, the Capitol TV host for the Hunger Games. Peeta's trial is being turned into a Capitol entertainment extravaganza! Indeed, the whole thing opens with a musical number. I'm not kidding! Caesar starts singing in a weird language, complete with an accent.

"Wilkhommen, bienvenue, welcome! Fremde, étranger, stranger! Gluckich, zu sehen, je suis enchanté. Happy to see you, Bleibe, reste, stay!" He speaks the interlude:

"Meine Damen und Herren - Mesdames and Messieurs - Ladies... and Gentlemen. Guten Morgen - bon sir - good morning, good evening, whatever! I am your host! Leave your troubles - outside! So - life is disappointing! Hmmmmmmmmmm?" The hum is ridiculously drawn out and high-pitched. "Forget it! We have no - troubles - here! Here, life is _beautiful_! The girls are _beautiful_!" and Caesar gestures to me. "Even the jury panel is _beautiful_! Welcome to The People of District 12 vs. Peeta Mellark!"

Somebody calls cut and Caesar is hustled away by his team. Not one person claps. We're all too stunned.

"What in the hell... was that?" I ask. But Haymitch appears just as baffled.

"Whatever it is... it probably just made getting Peeta acquitted a whole lot harder."

"All rise!" a booming voice calls out. "The Honorable William J. Clinton presiding!"

Judge Clinton comes out and takes his seat. The prosecution is allowed to give its opening statement first. With horror, I see that the prosecuting attorney is none other than Head Peacekeeper Cray.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury - upon the end of my argument and with testimony, I will prove to you how and why this man -" he points a huge finger at my husband. " - attacked and incapacitated Peacekeeper John Ballantyne on the evening of September 13th, 3020! I present to you... Exhibit A!"

There is a gasp as John is revealed in his robotic chair.

"Once a prominent member of District 12's police force, he is now destined to be nothing more than a vegetable. Your Honor... I would like to call my first witness to the stand."

"Request sustained. Call your first witness," Judge Clinton orders.

"I call Peeta Joseph Mellark to the stand!"

I gasp and I feel Haymitch tense next to me. But Peeta goes up without complaint. Is he prepared to be put in the hot seat? Cray has just thrown our defense quite a curveball. The judge makes Peeta place his right hand over a battered old book.

"Do you solemnly swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you God?"

"I do."

"Sit down, please." Peeta takes his seat. Cray wastes no time.

"Mr. Mellark: what were you doing on the night of last September the 13th?"

"I closed up the bakery, same as every evening. I remember it well because it was the day after my initial wedding to my wife, Katniss." Peeta smiles at me.

"And where was your wife?" Cray prods.

"Out all day. She went hunting and then traded in the Hob, same as she has since she was little." I know Peeta is making sure he tells the whole truth. Even trying to obfuscate my illegal hunting dealings could result in perjury charges. I only hope Cray does not use it against us.

"When night fell, and she had not returned, I figured she must be at her mother and sister's, so I went looking for her. I was just beyond Victors' Village when I saw John-" he stares hard at the useless Peacekeeper "- raping my wife against a shopfront wall!"

The crowd begins to murmur and stir. Judge Clinton bangs his gavel. "Order! Order! Order in the court!"

"Mr. Mellark: Are you sure it was John you saw raping your wife?"

"Yes!" Peeta gasps in outrage. "I'd recognize that ponytail anywhere. He was the same Peacekeeper who tried to barter for my wife's hand in marriage the day before!"

"What did you when you saw him and your wife?"

"I rushed at them, yanked John off of her, and put him in a chokehold."

"How long was he in the chokehold?"

"I don't remember. It couldn't have been more than a minute or two. Katniss cried to me, 'You'll kill him!' And I thought about it. But then I knew it wouldn't do to be a murderer. Have blood on my hands. So, I threw John into a wall and he fell into the dirt. As he started to get up, I thought he might attack me or my wife again, so I punched him, down near the base of his spine."

"Were you aiming for the base of the spine?" Cray demands.

"No, sir. That just happened to be where my fist landed. When John didn't get up after that, I thought he was just knocked out. I didn't learn his real condition until later."

"No further questions, Your Honor," Cray calls, and Peeta is released to me.

But the real trial is only just beginning.

* * *

 **A/N: Some of you might be wondering... Hmmmm... the judge's name is very familiar... Teehee! You'll see why in the next chapter!**


	18. Chapter 18: Haymitch Goes Ken Starr

**Chapter 18: Haymitch Goes Ken Starr**

"Mr. Abernathy, your response."

At Judge Clinton's command, Haymitch now rises to begin his defense. I give him a squeeze of his hand for luck.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, with my arguments and expert testimony, I do not mean to refute the charge that Peeta Mellark incapacitated John Ballantyne on the evening of September 13th, 3020. I mean to do no such thing. I _do_ , however, mean to explain why Mr. Mellark had just cause to do what he did, and that he acted in self defense. Your Honor, I would like to call Peacekeeper John Ballantyne to the stand."

"Request sustained. Call your first witness!"

John's robotic chair is manipulated into the witness stand. Someone slips the battered old book under his right hand.

"Do you solemnly swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you God?"

Silence.

"He blinked twice! That means yes!" one of John's handlers calls out.

"Objection, Your Honor! My witness is being manipulated!" Cray calls out.

"Objection overruled. If the witness has other ways of communicating his honesty, let him use them. Sit down, please," Judge Clinton orders, not realizing that John is already sitting. A few people in the crowd laugh, but quickly shut up.

Haymitch begins his defense. "Mr. Ballantyne, can you tell us what you were doing on the evening of last September 13th?"

There is a pause. A Peacekeeper brings out some kind of monitor and hooks it up to John's skull, then to what looks like a speaker. A robotic voice suddenly fills the courtroom.

"I finished making my rounds patrolling through the Seam sector."

"And when did you run into Katniss Mellark?"

"Objection, Your Honor! He's leading the witness!" Cray whines.

"Objection sustained. Mr. Abernathy, I would advise you to keep your questions as open-ended as possible."

Haymitch nods to Judge Clinton. "Mr. Ballantyne, did you encounter Katniss Mellark on the night of September 13th?"

There is a long silence. Finally: "Yes."

"Where?"

"Just beyond the Seam border. She attacked me; tried to get me to have sex with her. I fought her off."

That's a lie. He just lied on the stand! But Haymitch seems unperturbed. He picks up an item from our defense table. It is the torn blue dress of my mother's that I wore the day of the Hundred Days Union, and the day John raped me.

"Have you seen this dress before, Mr. Ballantyne?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

"She - Katniss Mellark - was wearing it that night. The night of September 13th."

"If you say Katniss Mellark attacked you and tried to have sexual relations with you, can you explain to me why her dress is torn?"

"Objection, Your Honor! How does this have anything to do with the case?" Cray hollers.

"Objection overruled. It has everything to do with it. Let us proceed."

Haymitch plows right on. He lays the dress on a projector and zooms in real close. On a screen displayed above the courtroom, a trail of milky substance is revealed on the hem of my dress.

"Mr. Ballantyne: If you say Katniss Mellark tried to have sex with you willingly, and you fought her off... can you explain to me how your semen got on her dress?"

John's eyes widen; I can see that much even from sitting so far away. Nothing is heard for a pregnant moment or two. Finally, the loudspeaker emits, very softly.

"I didn't fight her off."

"Your Honor, I believe the witness just contradicted his own statement. That is perjury, is it not?"

"It is, Mr. Abernathy, but we will get to that in due time. Continue, please."

"So you claim now that you did not fight Katniss Mellark off when she tried to have sex with you? You had sex with her willingly?"

"Yes," John answers.

"And she with you?"

"... No."

I gasp. He just admitted on the stand that he raped me. He tried to lie his way out of it, but got caught anyway! An uproar ensues in the courtroom, and Judge Clinton bangs his gavel.

"Order! Order!"

Haymitch smiles. "No further questions, Your Honor."

"The witness is released." John and all of his equipment are wheeled away.

"You Honor, I would like to call Katniss Everdeen Mellark to the stand," Haymitch asks.

"Request sustained. Call the witness."

I approach the stand, taking deep, calming breaths. I have been practicing for this all week, and I am ready. Upon taking the oath, I sit down and Haymitch begins.

"Mrs. Mellark: where were you on the evening of September 13th, 3020?"

"I was just returning home from having dinner with my mother and sister."

"Do you know John Ballantyne?"

"At that time, I did not know him well. I had only seen him the day before when he tried to win my hand at the Hundred Days Union."

"Did you see him at all between the evening of September 13th and the day of September 12th?"

"Objection -"

"Overruled!" Judge Clinton shoots Cray down before he can even finish.

Haymitch repeats the last question.

"Yes. On the morning of September 13th," I reply. "I encountered him just outside of the Hob and he introduced himself."

"Did you talk with him?"

"No. He was looking at me very lecherously and I felt uncomfortable. I tried to scoot past him, but he would not let me leave. Then my family showed up and I went home with them. That night, walking home, John encountered me again. He blocked my path same as that morning, and I could not get away or leave. He pushed me up against a wall... and..."

"Mrs. Mellark? Can you please continue?" the judge asks.

I tamp down my sobs. "... and he raped me."

"How many times?" Haymitch presses.

"Just once."

"Did he ejaculate?"

"Yes. I remember because Peeta showed up only a moment later."

"And did you orgasm?"

"Never!" I hiss with intensity.

"No further questions, Your Honor. I would like to call my next witness, Lillian Everdeen, to the stand."

"Request sustained on both counts. Mrs. Mellark, you are released. Mrs. Everdeen, please come forward," Judge Clinton approves.

My mother now takes the stand and gives the same oath I did. Haymitch keeps moving right along. He is being a real trooper; I can tell he's already tired. But he presses on.

"Mrs. Everdeen, can you state for the record what your professional expertise is?"

"I am a Healer. I provide medicines for patients, help deliver babies."

"Mrs. Everdeen -" and Haymitch now holds up a sonogram of Peeta's and my baby. "Can you tell me what this is?"

"That is a sonogram picture of a fetus."

"Can you tell me the identity of the fetus?"

"Overruled!" We all jump in panic as Judge Clinton suddenly bangs his gavel over no objection at all. Flustered, he turns to Cray. "My apologies, Mr. Head Peacekeeper. That was hasty of me."

The whole courtroom chuckles, even Cray.

"That is a picture of my unborn grandson, Simit Estes Mellark."

"Very fascinating machine - a sonogram. Prints readouts of the baby's health, vital signs and other pertinent information. DNA of the parents... as well as the date of conception. Mrs. Everdeen: can you tell me if you saw the date of conception listed on your grandson's sonogram readouts?" Haymitch queries.

"Yes."

"Do you remember the date of conception?"

"Yes."

"What was it?"

"September 12th."

"Objection, Your Honor! What does this have to do with the case?"

But too late. Cray's objection comes too late. For Haymitch has gotten all the information he needs. And now he pounces. " _This_ , Mr. Head Peacekeeper: if Katniss and Peeta Mellark's child was conceived the day _before_ John Ballantyne raped Katniss Mellark, that would make Katniss Mellark pregnant. And, therefore, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, Katniss Mellark's pregnant state would give Peeta Mellark probable cause to attack John Ballantyne in self-defense!"

Judge Clinton is intrigued, forgetting for a moment that he did not formally overrule Cray's objection. "Explain, Mr. Abernathy."

"Your Honor, the concept of self-defense can be interpreted very broadly. It can also mean defense not of one's self, but an _extension_ of one's self. An extension such as one's wife and one's unborn child. John Ballantyne's attack threatened Peeta Mellark's sense of self because this attack threatened people Peeta Mellark holds dear: his wife and child. In that view, Peeta Mellark acted in self-defense and furthermore, had every right to!"

Most of District 12 cheers, forcing Judge Clinton to bang his gavel for silence.

"Your Honor!" Cray calls, and he sounds like he's in a total panic. "I would like to submit sonogram results from Katniss Everdeen Mellark for examination! I would also like to call Christopher Drury to the stand!"

I gasp. Christopher Drury is the Milkman's Son. And I see what Cray is trying to do. He's trying to submit my cheating on Peeta with Drury as evidence that I am promiscuous, and therefore would have reason to attack John and entreat sexual favors. As for the sonogram results, Cray must have gotten his hands on one's showing John's and my baby, and he probably intends to sow suspicion about a cover-up thanks to my abortion. Wow! I'm getting pretty good at this legal stuff!

But Judge Clinton won't have any of it. "Request overruled. Evidence is not relevant to this case. We will break for dinner, whereupon the attorneys will give their closing statements." He bangs his gavel. "Court adjourned."

* * *

 **A/N: Whoo! OK! For anybody wondering about the judge's name... the answer is in the title. Ken Starr was the prosecutor during the Monica Lewinsky case that led to the impeachment of President... Clinton. The examination of Katniss's blue dress and the semen on it harkens back to a very similar moment in that case regarding Monica Lewinsky. Just thought I'd point that out!**


	19. Chapter 19: The End?

**Chapter 19: The End?**

Dinner is a silent gathering. Throughout the whole meal, I see Haymitch outlining his closing arguments on a notepad, before crossing some words out and adding a few more in.

At last, everyone returns to the courtroom. Once the cameras start rolling, Caesar Flickerman resumes the programming. I had almost forgotten this is being made for TV.

"Meine Damen und Herren - Mesdames and Messieurs - Ladies and Gentlemen: I now present to you the conclusion of The People of District 12 vs. Peeta Mellark!"

Cray is allowed to give his closing statements first. I tune it out. He's so awful, and I don't exactly want to hear him slandering my husband or me. If that's all he can rest his case on...

Haymitch goes next. He must be very confident, for he does not say much. Only this: "You have heard all the testimony. We have made it clear that the wrong man was put on trial. The wrong crime was prosecuted. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I ask you to name this man not guilty, and restore him to his family. In the name of God: do your duty. In the name of God: believe him."

Judge Clinton then gives the jury his final instructions, before releasing them to deliberate. 15 minutes pass. I am still confident. 15 more minutes go by. I can tell Haymitch is starting to feel nervous. I refuse to descend into such insecurity, though. I cannot afford to jinx anything. After one hour has passed, the jury returns.

"Is that a good sign?" I ask the old drunk desperately. I learned from Haymitch that the length or brevity of a deliberation can allude to the likely outcome of a case. Haymitch frowns.

"Only one hour? I don't know... I just don't know." He reaches out a hand, and I grasp it tight.

"Has the jury reached a verdict?" Judge Clinton inquires.

"We have, Your Honor."

"Will the bailiff please read the verdict?"

The bailiff removes the ruling from a manila envelope. "We, the ladies and gentlemen of the jury, find the defendant, Peeta Joseph Mellark, not guilty of the crime of incapacitation and aggravated assault."

On the word _'not'_ , the whole courtroom erupts into roars of approval. I throw my arms around Peeta and kiss him passionately. I even hug Haymitch, who seems rather surprised by the gesture, but nevertheless pleased. As soon as the Peacekeepers unchain him, my husband shakes the Victor's hand vigorously.

The best sight is watching Cray kicking his table and throwing a barely mild tantrum like a little kid.

* * *

My father-in-law immediately throws an impromptu party over at the bakery. Many of our fellow citizens, Merchant and Seam alike, come to wish us well. As soon as he sees his son, Peeta holds onto Simit the rest of the night and refuses to let go.

But one person is missing. Haymitch, the hero and man who should be a guest of honor, arrives at the party late. The festivities are just beginning to wind down, in fact. From across the room, I can see my husband greet him.

"There he is: my hero! Would you like a cookie, Haymitch? Or perhaps a beer? Liquor table is next to the front counter: all yours!"

"Not right now, Peeta, thank you, though. Welcome home, son." Haymitch politely waves Peeta off. Something is bothering the old man, I can sense it. Indeed, he makes a beeline for me.

"What's wrong?" I ask without any preamble.

"The entire trial and ruling is being broadcast on Capitol TV. And from what I can tell, President Snow is not happy."

I grow pale. "Will he try and get revenge?"

"You never know with that fellow, but if I had to bet, probably not. Peeta can't be retried, and if Snow arranged an assassination or something, it would look to suspicious/obvious. Let's just keep our heads down and hopefully, it will all blow over." He places a hand on my shoulder when I don't become more reassured. "Sweetheart, I know the guy. He's very... shall we say, flighty? ADHD. Gets distracted by little random things all the time. Something will turn his attention away from Peeta. Besides, there's something else you should know..."

"What?" I ask, and I have a feeling I won't like what he's about to tell me.

"Cray threw a fit after the ruling. And he took it on John. I was just informed that he was killed by lethal injection."

Despite the fact that this is my rapist we are talking about, my eyes fill with tears. After everything I was put through by that Peacekeeper, I now feel sorry for him. He failed to help Cray get Peeta indicted, and paid the ultimate price. "At least... he's in a better place. Better than living out the rest of his life as a vegetable."

Haymitch nods grimly, clapping me on the shoulder before moving on to the bar table.

That night, as Peeta and I lie in bed with Simit nestled between us, my husband asks me, "You love me. Real or Not Real?"

I tell him, "Real."

* * *

 **Four Years Later**

The sun is streaming through the windows, and the mockingjay birds are chirping as I am pulled out of sleep. I am only just taking in my surroundings and that my bed is empty when suddenly -

"Surprise!" The door to Peeta's and my room bangs open, and in thunders my four-year-old son. He leaps onto my bed with the gracefulness of his father - which is to say, not very graceful at all. He lands on my legs.

"Simit!" I squeal.

Peeta follows the little boy in, laughing. "Careful with your mother, young man."

"Yes, Papa."

Peeta presents me with a tray of breakfast foods. "The little man and I were up early making this for you."

"But it isn't my birthday!" I protest.

"Katniss, it isn't about a day! It's Thankful We Have You Day," Peeta makes up on the spot. He kisses my temple. "Though it still is a work day. Hurry and eat, the bakery is about to open."

I scarf down the food (with a little help from my son), shower and dress. I then head down to the kitchens. Donning an apron, I expertly knead the first batch of dough for the day, then rest my tired hands after a while by firing up the ovens.

In the almost five years that Peeta and I have been married, I have become very skilled in leading the life of a baker's wife. My in-laws still help with a lot of the work, but I have been taking over more and more for when Peeta's parents eventually retire. Just as the ovens have finished heating, Leven pokes his head downstairs.

"Katniss! I have to go out for a minute to pick up a shipment. Would you mind manning the cash register while I'm gone?"

"Just coming!" I call. I sprint up the stairs and tighten the back of my apron, washing my hands of yeast so as to not dirty the register and make myself more presentable. Relieving my brother-in-law from duty, I am put to work almost immediately, as the first Merchant couple comes through the door.

"Welcome to Mellark Bakery; my name is Katniss. How can we help you today...?"


	20. Part IV: Adultery, Chapter 20: Fight

**Part IV: Adultery**

 **Chapter 20: Fight**

 **Another Six Years Later**

"Thank you so much! Please come again soon!" The last customer exits out the front door. As the clock strikes 5 PM, I change the sign in the window from OPEN to CLOSED and lean against a nearby table in exhaustion. What a day! Three cake orders had their deadlines today, and at least ten plates worth of cheese buns were sold.

I straighten. Things were so busy today, I wonder where my husband went, after all that? I haven't seen him since lunch hours. I decide to check the back storage room.

That is where I find him, in the corner that once served as his mother's accounting office and is now his. Peeta is bent over the desk, his reading glasses pushed down to the bridge of his nose, recording in the ledger book. I slip behind him and wrap my arms around his waist, kissing his neck.

"Hey," I whisper. "Everything OK?"

"Yeah," Peeta sighs. "Just putting in these last payments for when our taxes are due."

I glance over his shoulder, my eyes flitting to the most recently filled out line. My brow narrows.

"That isn't right," I say. I am sure of it, even after only seeing the data once. I am a pretty good editor, especially when it comes to numbers. Too many years trading for the best prices in the Hob, I guess.

"Hmmm? What are you talking about?" Peeta asks absentmindedly.

"That," I point. "Your entry for our last shipment of sourdough reads at $135.99. It should be $147.50."

Peeta checks where I indicate. "No, I'm pretty sure I had it down as..."

"Uh-uh. You're thinking of the one for last week. This week's was for $147.50; I distinctly remember Rye telling me..."

"Katniss, does it really matter?" Peeta throws down the pen and rubs at his eyes. I should notice that he is obviously getting tired, but so am I, so I lash out.

"IT DOES, PEETA! If we're off by even a few dollars, or don't remember which shipment cost what, the Peacekeepers could write us up on tax fraud! Even if it is an innocent mistake!"

"So, what do you want me to do about it now, huh?" Peeta asks.

"Just _fix it_! It only takes a second!"

"I'll re-check it in the morning, Katniss! I'm tired!"

"WELL, SO AM I!"

"Why are you yelling at me?!" Peeta demands.

"I'M NOT YELLING AT YOU!" I very clearly yell.

"SURE SOUNDS LIKE IT!" my husband snaps.

I scowl. I refuse to go in this round-and-round, back-and-forth, with him. "I need to go hunting. I couldn't get out this morning, anyway." I storm out of the back room, and retrieve my father's hunting jacket, as well as my bow and arrows. I don't even kiss my husband goodbye.

* * *

Hunting beyond the fence allows me to blow off some steam. By the time I bag two or three birds and a few squirrels, I am significantly less angry than I was leaving the District. I shouldn't have been so nitpicky with Peeta. He's doing his best. Besides, his mother was the real financial whiz in the family, and Peeta always struggled in math when we were in school. I resolve to go back to the bakery immediately and apologize, kiss and make-up, with my husband before dinner.

But first, I have to trade some of this game.

I now enter the Hob with my wares. At 6:00 PM rush-hour like it is today, the black market is at one of its busiest times. Good. More chances that I will make a trade. I make a beeline for Greasy Sae's stall, and manage to haggle five coins from her in exchange for some fresh squirrel. I am just gathering my game bag when a familiar crop of red hair approaches the table.

"Well, if it isn't the lovely Mrs. Mellark!"

Despite the white-plated uniform that clashes with the new arrival's hair, I have to smile. Darius is friendly, lenient - something that you surely cannot say about other Peacekeepers. _Any_ other Peacekeeper.

"Hello, Darius."

"And what wonders might you have brought us all today?" He pokes through the bag before I can stop him, though I am not worried. But then he frowns. "Katniss…. did you get this from beyond the fence?"

I nod, confused as to why he is so concerned. It is a well-known secret within the Seam that I poach in the woods beyond the district. Even Darius knows. He has never told any of his superiors about my law-breaking, something I have to respect him for.

Darius sighs. "It's just that someone might see the amount you brought and suspect something. And if I don't say anything…."

Oh no. I understand what he means. Darius can be lenient, but not _that_ lenient. Now and again he has to demonstrate to Cray and his other commanders that he can be firm, just to show that he has done his duty. Even if he does not like it.

"Please don't tell, Darius," I whisper. "There are leftovers in there for Mother and Prim. They can't feed themselves if I am thrown in the stocks."

Darius considers this, his expression unreadable. Then he cracks a small smile. "You know," he whispers conspiratorially to me, "If I just slip some of this into our stores at the Justice Building, Cray probably won't notice."

My eyes fill with tears. I owe him. Big time. It is one of the things I hate and yet abide by rigidly, the concept of owing someone.

"Except I haven't any money," Darius confesses.

"That won't be necessary, Darius. I'll find some other way to pay you back, I promise! I owe you: big time!" I say as I rush out of the Hob.

Isn't it funny, how promises can so easily entrap you like a snare?


	21. Chapter 21: New Year's Fair Trade

**Chapter 21: New Year's Fair Trade**

The snow flurries get into my eyes as I hustle into the Hob a few days later. It is the day of New Year's Eve, and the weather forecasts from the Capitol promised a blizzard to ring in the new calendar year. If I hurry, maybe I can still get home in time for my kids to wake up and feed them breakfast. Thank God the bakery is closed during the holidays!

As I finish my dealings, I run into Darius again. I almost crash into him, in fact, and he steadies me with a laugh.

"You in a hurry, I take it?"

"Sorry, Darius," I apologize with a smile. "Peeta and the kids have been running me ragged lately, and I have to back to cook them breakfast when they get up. Oh!" I turn around with an afterthought after rushing past him. "And I still need to find a way to pay you back for that game from a few days ago."

Darius seems surprised and pleased that I even remembered that. "How about this? The New Year's Eve Party is happening here tonight. Why don't you come; give yourself a break? Heck, find a babysitter and bring Peeta with you! Make it a date night!"

I think about it. I sure could use a break. And though I have already apologized to Peeta for our spousal spat from a few days ago, taking him out on a date might be just what I need to really make it up to him.

"All right," I smile. "I'll check with Peeta as soon as I get home!"

* * *

However, that night I enter the New Year's Eve party alone. Peeta was really tempted to come, but said he could not ask either of his brothers to babysit on such short notice. Besides, he is busy at work on a cake to celebrate his dad's birthday, which is coming up next week.

I enter the Hob wearing a nice red dress - another hand-me-down from my mother's Merchant days. Almost immediately, I spy some familiar faces over at one table.

"Hey, Catnip!" Gale calls.

"Hello, Katniss!" Darius echoes, standing up. I give both men a hug. "Where's Peeta?"

"Oh, he was tempted, believe me, but he couldn't find a babysitter for the kids, and there's a really big cake order due!"

"Cake order? For when? It's the middle of the holidays!" Darius goggles. "Never mind. Would you like to dance?"

I'm a little taken aback, but touched too, and accept. Darius and I join the other dancing pairs in the crowd. We waltz, before the music gets progressively faster and soon we are doing every dance from the polka to the samba. We finish with a traditional District 12 folk dance.

By the time we run off the dance floor, we are sweaty and laughing. We meet up with Gale at the bar, where he produces two glasses of beer.

"On the house!"

Darius and I quickly polish off that first round. Then another. And another. By late into the evening, we are pretty inebriated.

After Darius buys me an unsolicited drink – my fourth overall, he ponders, "Now what might be a fair trade for a free shot of whiskey?"

I shake my head with a smile. "I can't even imagine."

"How about a kiss?" He leans in close to me and grins. "Tis the season, after all; I bet there are still sprigs of mistletoe hanging about."

I let out a bark of laughter and playfully shove him away. "No, thanks."

"Why not? I tell you, Katniss, my kisses are the most sought-after in the District!"

This gets my attention and I smirk. "Oh yeah? With who?"

Darius points out women to me. "Why, the flower seller with the green muffler. Oh, and the milkman's wife! I have plenty of references in these parts."

Gale begins to hoot with laughter as he rises and pays for his drink. "Keep talking, Darius! You'll never get a peck outta her! Besides, she's a married woman!" And he heads off to dance with his wife, Leevy.

Darius lays off after a while, and I leave the bar and slip just outside to be by myself. Gazing up into the night sky, I can see the stars twinkling.

"It's a beautiful night, isn't it?" Darius has joined me. I simply nod. Just then, I hear the crowd begin to roar the countdown:

"Ten! Nine! Eight! Seven! Six! Five! Four! Three! Two! One!" There is loud cheering, and soon couples fall into each other's arms and kiss, as is tradition. In one corner, I can see Gale kiss a delighted Leevy.

It _is_ a tradition to share a kiss with someone when the clock strikes midnight. I don't have anybody. And neither does Darius. We turn to each other at the same moment.

"Come here, you," I drunkenly slur. I grab at his jacket and try to pull him towards me, but stumble. Darius catches me around the waist, his arms tightening about me as he pulls me closer and into his arms.

Our faces are inches apart now. My breath catches. My eyes slowly flutter until they droop half-closed. I can feel Darius's breath on my face just before he -

Darius kisses me. Full on the lips. My eyes close completely, and forgetting where I am or even who I am kissing, whose lips I am now engaging, I enthusiastically kiss him back. Darius tongue sweeps across my bottom lip, seeking entrance.

"Mmmmmmmm..." I moan loudly into his mouth, and I part my lips for him. Immediately his tongue fires in between the split and intertwines with my own, drawing it into his own mouth. Our tongues battle for dominance. The kiss becomes more sensual, deepens, until it is hard to tell whose mouth is whose. It is as if our lips are fused together.

I drape my arms around Darius's neck, my fingers burying into his fiery red locks, playing with the strands of his hair. His hands press further into the small of my back, the digits dancing along the base of my spine possessively.

Somewhere far, far away, fireworks whizz and explode with a piercing WHEESH into the nighttime sky above the Hob. At long last, we break apart. Darius looks in awe as well as ecstatic.

"Happy New Year," he expresses.

I nod. "Happy New Year," I echo quietly.


	22. Chapter 22: Venison Tension

**Chapter 22: Venison Tension**

I don't remember my kiss with Darius until I wake up in my husband's bed with a hangover the next morning. I am thoroughly embarrassed, of course. I decide to just try and forget about the kiss, chalking it up to something born out of a coerced tradition, and that we both clearly had too much to drink.

* * *

It's another week or so before I see Darius again. This time, it's in the woods. I stumble upon him literally struggling how to hold a crudely crafted bow as he fits a even more-crudely crafted arrow to it. When he accidentally lets go of the string and shoots a hole in his pack, I cannot help but laugh. I keep the smile on my face as I saunter over to him.

"Having trouble?"

Darius glances back and shoots me an optimistic grimace. "Oh, I'll get it right. But it may take a while."

I pace around him to get a good look at his bow. It's of average make, really, though clearly homemade. Still, I feel the need to inquire, "Did you make this?"

He grins sheepishly. "Horrible, isn't it? I didn't know what else to do. The fish have barely been biting, and I certainly couldn't afford a professional bow in town."

I shake my head. "It's not horrible. For a novice, it's actually a great first effort. It took my father _years_ to perfect his bow-crafting technique."

Darius tries to lift the bow and straighten it. "You learned all your mad skills from him then, huh?"

I would answer him, if I didn't see how terribly off his stance is. The teacher in me prompts, "Feet shoulder-width apart."

Darius glances at me and obeys. "Now straighten that back." When he doesn't catch my meaning, I press my hand into the small of his back. I feel his skin tingle where my hand rests. I quickly move on.

"Tighten you stomach muscles. The most important thing a hunter needs to control is breathing." I have no choice but to demonstrate as I place my hands on either side of his diaphragm. I feel awkward. I've never been in physical contact like this with anyone other than Peeta. Unless you count John or that Drury fellow, which I most definitely do not. And besides, when I taught Peeta how to hunt, it wasn't awkward in the least, because we were already married. I focus on the man in front of me, trying to keep my voice and body language as casual as possible.

"Relax your shoulders and bring your bow arm down. Your body should be entirely streamlined." This time, Darius needs no prompting from me. I check his bow hand.

"Grip is actually good. Now, breathe in deeply, and release the arrow on the exhale," I tell him.

WHOOSH! The arrow flies and hits a tree dead-on. I smile at Darius.

"Very good! Even Peeta's first shot wasn't as good as that." Besides the fact that this statement is true, I find myself sincere in my approval.

However, my voice trails off when I realize how close his face is to mine.

Darius smiles back, his voice soft. "So, who's your better pupil: the baker's son or the poor Peacekeeper?"

My breathing becomes ragged. My heart is pounding in my chest; I can hear it beating in my ears. "You..." I whisper, even though I completely forget what he asked me. I barely register how my arms have wrapped themselves around his waist from behind. Darius's face inches closer. My eyes flutter, drooping until they are almost shut. My brain is screaming at me a reminder that I'm a married woman, and that we should stop now before... we... kiss... again...

Before our lips can touch, I tear myself away. The spell is broken, and I awkwardly clear my throat.

"It's late. I... I have to go. I better go!" Without even bidding him goodbye, I gather my game bag and turn tail for the fence and my home beyond. For the first time in my hunting career, I return home empty-handed. Peeta does not seem bothered by my explanation that I could not take down any game; this winter has been harsher than normal.

However, his non-concern does not keep my turbulent emotions of confusion and fright at bay.

* * *

 **A/N: All right, guys! I just wanted to warn you that this is the last update you'll have for this story for the next few weeks. I have other things coming up on my plate, which is why I rushed to get as far into this epic as possible. Also, the final two chapters (yes, there are only two left!) promise to be quite long, and I want to do right by them. Check back in two to three weeks or so, and I will have it finished. Thank you for your patience! REVIEW!**


	23. Chapter 23: Passionate Affair

**Chapter 23: Passionate Affair**

My feelings for Darius only grow more murky and confused over the next several days following our encounter in the woods. Even just thinking about or picturing the handsome Peacekeeper can send my heart into a total tap dance, make my palms sweaty, and induce shortness of breath.

Somewhere deep down inside of my soul, I know what I am feeling for this man is wrong. I know because I have acted on these feelings before. My previous tryst with Drury might have been impulsive, fueled by a jilted rage. And my rape at the hands of John might have been forced, never wanted in the first place. These were still moments of unfaithfulness - and they only produced pain in the long run. Yet my traitorous heart always beats back these rational warnings when it comes to Darius.

I begin to obsess over what I might say if I see Darius again. The side of me grounded in reality begins to compose words of rejection - words explaining how I am already married and it would be unethical to venture into a relationship.

Of course, I will have no control over when these words will be uttered.

One morning, Peeta is out on an errand, picking up a new shipment of bread. Our kids have just been put down for their naps, and the rest of my family has gone home early for the day, closing up the shop due to a slow influx of customers. I am alone.

Suddenly, the phone rings. I pick it up before the first ring is through, so as not to wake the kids.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Katniss. It's Darius."

My heart begins to pound furiously. For a moment, the monologue I have been carefully preparing to end this... whatever-it-is before it starts appears in my brain, only to then vanish, like a computer screen going blank.

"Hi. What's up?" My response nearly comes out in a croak.

"I was wondering if you had a free minute to meet me at the Peacekeeper barracks."

The last time I had been to that place was to see John and ask his advice over what should be done about our baby. A part of me is suspicious of going over there, especially since Darius has not given me any details.

But another part of me - an excited part - urges me on. After a brief internal struggle between suspicious and excited, excited wins. Darius has suggested it will only take a minute. And even if it doesn't, the kids are safe, asleep in their beds. Peeta will be back soon. Besides, this isn't a date.

"I'll be right over."

I leave a note down on the front counter, that simply says I have stepped outside for a bit and will be back soon. I then steal down the back alley of the bakery, and make my way down to the Peacekeeper barracks. Darius is waiting for me outside.

"There's something I want to show you," he smiles when he sees me.

Curious, I follow him down into the barracks. We enter the hallway lined with doors that I vaguely remember from when I visited John, before walking through it and heading down a stairwell. We must be heading underground, but what would Darius have to show me here?

At last, we come to a gate. Darius produces a key and unlocks it, before then opening the door right behind this gate. He flicks on the lights once we are inside.

We are in a small locker room. On cubbies lining the walls, there are bulky suits that look like the ones worn by astronauts of old in space; I remember reading about them in school. Darius hands me one that looks my size.

"Put this on. You can wear it over your clothes. It's for your protection."

I find myself smiling at him, amused, before doing as he says. Darius also dons a suit.

"Ready?" he asks. His voice comes through in an artificial, echoey way from the helmet on his head. I nod through my helmet.

Opening the door on the other side of the locker room, he and I enter a metallic world. The room is long and vertical - it could probably fit several Seam homes comfortably inside. At the far end are what clearly look like targets. I look to my right and see automatic weapons and guns lined up on a rack.

This is a shooting range.

"I thought I'd show you where I usually perform target practice, and what I normally shoot with," Darius grins at my amazed reaction.

I turn to him with a smirk, amused. "Aren't only Peacekeepers allowed to use guns?"

"Well, since you are so proficient with bows, I think we can make an exception in your case," Darius waves away, handing me a semi-automatic. "I trust you."

For the next hour or so, Darius and I practice our shooting skills. He's right, of course - guns are not all that different from bows and arrows. As we fire round after round, we get to talking.

"How's the bakery?" Darius asks at one point.

I sigh as I let another bullet fly. "It could be a lot better." I don't know what power this man holds over me that makes me open up, but I do. "Peeta and I have been... struggling with our finances lately. Sales have been down from what they used to be, and taxes are only going up, year after year. Keeping the business open and sending the kids to school has made money tight."

Darius is staring at me, a concerned and sympathetic look on his face. After a moment of silence, he makes the most stunning offer:

"I don't know how much it would help, but I can always give you a cut of my salary monthly. If it would help pay the bills."

I hate owing people, which is why I almost always refuse acts of charity, out of guardedness and pride. But what Darius is offering to do - a Capitol official setting aside money for a citizen of his District! - is astonishing. My heart bursting with emotion from his generosity, I turn to him with an incredulous stare, even as I accept the donation. "Thank you," I whisper.

Darius smiles.

We are still smiling when we get back into the locker room, laughing as we take off our helmets. Our eyes meet. A pause. And then, with no words, we move to close the gap between us. With a bump, the rest of our bulky space suits both mercifully and yet maddeningly get in our way. We laugh awkwardly. Our suits keep brushing up against each other. As we try to close the gap again. And again.

By now, I have thrown all caution to the wind. Darius's offer is so overwhelming, that I just have to -

"Uh... uh..." Breathing hard with the effort to reach him, I at last seize the neck seal of his helmet and pull his face to mine, fiercely pressing my lips to his at last. "Mmmmmmm... Mmmmmmmmm..." We kiss with our mouths wide open, with heated tongue.

Minutes later, we have shedded the rest of our space-like suits and left them in heaps in the locker room. Up in Darius's dimly lit room in the barracks, I back him up towards his bed. Seductively, I slip of my black shirt and let it fall away, revealing my bare back. I grab at Darius's clothes and undress him, our bodies undulating towards each other in anticipation, like two animals impatient to become engaged in heat. I capture his lips with mine, my arms draping lazily around his neck, and we fall back onto the mattress. Fingers framing his face as I passionately kiss him, I let this man take me to bed. We begin to make love.

Later that night, the barracks cafeteria is deserted, as Darius and I sneak in to grab a midnight snack. Everyone else has gone to sleep. Sitting directly across from me, Darius observes barely above a whisper, "You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. You kill me."

My eyes lazily meet his. There's a silent challenge, a dare, in his eyes, and I decide to accept it. Dropping the piece of chicken I'm holding, I then deliberately push my tray of food aside, so hard that it skirts off the edge of the table and onto the floor with a CRASH. A crash I do not hear as I climb onto the table, and slink - on my hands and knees - like a cat to the man across from me. Darius leans back in his chair, surprised and impressed, before I seize him by the scruff of his neck, and pull his lips into a desperate kiss.

I slip off of the table and into his lap, straddling his hips. Briefly breaking our kiss as I get into position, I wrap my arms around the handsome Peacekeeper and kiss him again. Darius stands, taking me with him as his hands that are firmly about my waist slink up underneath the fabric of my shirt. I do not have time to fold my legs around his torso before he is leaning me, laying me back onto the table with a small clatter. My one hand heavily caresses up and down his strong back while my other hand plays at the nape of his neck. I open my mouth wide to him, and he kisses me sensually, his tongue invading my maw as I make quick work of divesting him of his shirt. Helping him pull it over his head and cast it aside, and seizing each new reveal of his bare skin as I do so, I let Darius settle between my spread-eagled legs. We have sex once more, right on that table.

Still later, Darius has carried my naked form back up to his bed. Our naked bodies, sweating after making love yet again, lie pressed together. My one leg is draped over his, peeking out from amongst the blankets. I am partially on top of him, my hand resting on his chest, my head nestled in the crook of his neck and shoulder. Darius's fingers absentmindedly dance in my hair.

"You OK?" he murmurs.

"Yeah," I sigh breathlessly with a nod. "I'm fine. It's just..." I cannot even find the thoughts behind the words which I want to express, my one hand reaching out in thin air as if I could pluck the words from such an expanse. I give up.

"Yeah, I know," Darius sighs.

I get home that night very late. When I see that Peeta has waited up for me, I remember what I just willingly violated between us and feel the shame wash over me all over again. I manage to get out a lie that I fell asleep in the woods while hunting and simply lost track of time. He accepts it, and kisses me once. It is a kiss I happily return, before we head up to our bed.

I lie facing away from him the whole night.

* * *

The very next morning, I get a text on my cell phone from an unfamiliar number. MEET ME IN THE WOODS IN TEN, it reads cryptically.

I instinctively, intuitively, know it's from Darius. I spring out of bed and dress. I have to face him. I have to tell him today, end this today. What happened last night may have felt good physically, but it was still wrong.

I find Darius deep in the woods, by the lake and my father's old hunting cabin.

"Hi," I greet him, and I let him hug me. "It's good to see you."

"You as well," he smiles.

I glance at the lake around us, the trees and clearing which are glistening in the early morning sun. "It's such a beautiful day."

"Yes." Darius's hands suddenly go about my waist, and I fearfully grip at his arms for only a moment to steady myself. His one hand brushes at my cheek in an intimate way.

"What are you doing?"

"I can't take it anymore!" Darius hisses, and now gripping me by my neck, he fiercely kisses me on the lips before I can stop him.

"Mmmmmm! Mmmmmmm!" My cries of protest are muffled and my eyes widen. I try pushing against his arms to get him to let me go. Now I really _have_ to tell him. "No. Darius, I'm married." Yet the reminder of my reality - _our_ reality - sounds regretful, almost sad, even to my own ears. Unfortunately, this only encourages the man who wishes to be my paramour.

"Did you like that?" He kisses me again.

"Mmmmm..." I twist my head from side to side, finally breaking the connection of our lips. "No, please! I'm married!"

Darius is undeterred. He merely plants kisses along my face, before bringing my lips back to his.

"No...mmmmmm...No..." I try to say more forcefully, even if the words are half-buried into Darius's mouth. I push at his arms again. "Stop... stop..." But my voice is growing weaker by the second, now coming out in almost a whisper.

Darius kisses me once more. As he does, his left hand wanders. He heavily - intimately - caresses and pets my butt.

"No... No! Mmmmmmm! Mmmmmmm!" I begin to panic against his lips, pushing at him - at his face - more desperately, even as our lips flow together jarringly.

Darius gallingly raises my one leg to his waist, cupping my thigh in his strong hand.

And that's when it is as if a switch has flicked in my brain, prompting me to participate in, rather than resist, my own seduction.

"Mmmmmm? Mmmmmmmmm..." My moans of protest turn into moans of pleasure, and my one arm hooks around Darius's neck at my elbow as I at last begin to kiss him back. My hands play in his hair.

Triumphant, Darius dips me back and my sudden loss of footing elicits a terrified squeak from me; it is silenced against his mouth. We land in the grass, rolling around in each other's embrace, our lips smacking against each other furiously. Our hands go everywhere, cupping at each other's faces. Darius's lips finally roam all over my face, and I relish in the sensation of his touch, my eyes closed, my puffy lips emitting tiny sighs.

At last, we break apart for good and gaze at each other. Laughing, we share a chaste kiss with a smile. I surrender. I am his now. I will allow him to be my lover.

Moments later, we are naked in the water, luxuriating under a natural waterfall. I arch my body into Darius's form behind me as he plants feathery kisses on my neck and shoulders. Next second, we are making out feverishly - with tongue, like normal. At last, Darius swings me around in front of him before sinking under the water. Next moment, I feel his mouth sink into my folds, his lips gnawing away at my clit and at my womanhood.

"Uhhhhh... Uhhhhhhh..." I groan with pleasure, throwing my head back and letting my eyes roll up into the back of my head.

I lose count of how many times I orgasm.

* * *

 **A/N: Wow! That was quite the marathon! Sorry, I lied! Found myself with extra time on my hands. One more chapter to go!**


	24. Chapter 24: Whole Truth Revealed

**Chapter 24: Whole Truth Revealed**

I struggle to carry the stack of boxes through the front door of the bakery. My mother and sister follow close behind with other packages in their arms.

My mother has finally retired from her Healing practice. Though it is a great loss for the Seam, and frankly the whole of District 12, I know Prim will make an excellent successor. Such a change in management finally convinced my mother to move into the bakery with me, Peeta and the kids.

"Peeta, honey, we're home!" I call.

"There are the loveliest ladies in Twelve!" Peeta chuckles, planting a kiss on my lips in greeting that I tenderly return. "Lillian, how are you?"

"Where do you want this, Mother?" I ask, pausing on the stair landing as I turn back to her.

"Oh, just take it up to the spare room, dear; I'll unpack later."

I take the box up to the room we have already set aside as my mother's room. It will do for now; as my mother ages and stairs are no longer an option, we will likely turn the storage room/office downstairs into her quarters.

I set the box down with a THUMP. Wanting to help ease the work for my mother as much as possible, I begin to go through it and ponder what should go where. There are some old picture frames: one shows my parents on their wedding day, another the day I was born. A third captures a more somber occasion - the day my family accepted a posthumous medal on behalf of my father after the mining accident.

Setting this latest frame aside, I see a small file folder underneath it labeled GIRLS' BIRTH CERTIFICATES across the front in large letters. Smiling sentimentally, I open it and pull mine out.

There's my name: Katniss Sierra Everdeen. My height, weight and time of birth are all listed underneath. Then my parents are listed. Mother: Lillian Foley Everdeen. Father:...

 _Haymitch Abernathy_?!

I rise, my breath coming out of me in choked gasps. I feel as though I'm drowning. This can't be right; that can't be true. The room is spinning, with only three words flashing in my head like a neon sign:

 _Father: Haymitch Abernathy, Father: Haymitch Abernathy, Father: Haymitch Abernathy..._

I cry out, stumbling into a bedside table. The world as I heretofore knew it is gone. Estes Everdeen is somehow not my father. My father sits in the Victors' Village...

I jolt as I suddenly think of something. What of Primrose? Surely she is...

I scramble for the file folder and open it. There's her name: Primrose Foccaccia Everdeen. Height, weight, time of birth, our mother's name - that's all there. When I read the father's name, I crumble to the floor:

Father: Steffan Mellark.

Now it makes sense. Foccaccia is the name of a bread we bake all the time in the bakery. Downstairs, I can hear the distant laughter of my in-laws as they arrive to welcome my mother. Does Primrose know that she is related to them not just through marriage, but by blood? That my father-in-law is her biological father? Wouldn't that mean... Oh God...

"MOTHER!" I scream. I hear sudden footsteps pounding up the stairs, voices behind the door.

"Peeta, go back down, dear, I'll handle this..." My mother bursts in. "Katniss, what's wrong...?" She stops short.

I stand in the center of the room, the birth certificates in my hand. "This. What the hell _is_ all this? Can you explain to me why it says my father is...?" I can't bare to speak his name before I break down in tears. Mother pulls me into her arms. I want to push her away, but I don't have to strength to.

"This is something I should have told you long ago." We sit down on the edge of her bed and she begins: "After we got married, your father and I wanted desperately to have children. We tried and we tried for about five years without any success. I began to suspect something was wrong, but I was not about to point fingers. I suggested that we find donors to create you and your sister, but your father would not hear of it; he refused to believe there was anything wrong. After a while, though, he began to get it in his mind that he was infertile. It nearly tore him apart."

I gasp, unable to believe my ears. "So, you floated to him the idea that you _sleep_ with other men?"

"No, dear. There is another way to provide sperm. Injections of it into the mother's body are quite common, so the sperm can unify with an egg. But, for me... that isn't what happened..."

"One night, your father went to the bar in the Hob and met up with Cotton Hawthorne, Gale's dad. He asked him if he would sleep with me in order to produce a child. So the story goes, Cotton refused at first, then said he would think about it."

"That same night, I had to make a delivery to Haymitch Abernathy in Victors' Village. I became very upset, and Haymitch guessed at what was wrong. Well, actually, he knew: he had overheard your father at the bar. We got drunk together, and I held him that night. Pretty soon, one thing led to another, and..." she chokes up. "I found out I was pregnant with you a few weeks later."

I want to throw up at the thought of my mother having sex with that old drunk. I sniffle. "Did... did Daddy know?"

"Estes?" and I realize the identity of 'Daddy' is now confusing in conversation. "He knew. He knew you weren't biologically his. But he didn't know who your real father was. Or, at least, he thought he knew. Till the day he died, he believed that Cotton Hawthorne was your father."

"And the Hawthornes maintained that lie?" I ask. She nods.

I hiccup. "And Primrose... Steffan is...?"

My mother looks away in shame. "I seduced him one night in the Meadow. I never told Estes who her father was. In fact, for both of you, I had your birth certificates delivered to our house instead of at the Justice Building, and filled them out the Father lines after the fact. Estes never saw them. I didn't want to break his heart further."

I pause, digesting all I have just heard. "Should we tell the others?"

Mother takes a deep breath. "I guess now there is no choice. It's time. They have a right to know and your sister, especially."

We walk downstairs as though we are in the procession of a funeral march. My family is laughing and joking. They won't be for much longer. My mother calls for quiet.

"There is something that I need to come clean about. I was going to take it to my grave, except now I, in good conscience, cannot..."

She retells the story she told me right from the beginning. When we get to the part about Primrose's origins, that's when all hell breaks loose.

"You cheated on me!" Mrs. Mellark rounds on Steffan. "I knew she was a no good... Ooooooohhhhhh... you little BITCH!" She lunges at my mother.

"Hey. Hey!" Peeta roars, diving into the fray along with Leven. The two brothers keep the women apart. Primrose, meanwhile, is staring at the Baker as if she's never seen him before.

"You're my father?" she draws closer to him, examining his face. She must recognize some of herself in him, for she suddenly bursts into tears and throws herself into his arms.

Rye looks just as stunned as it dawns on him. "But that means... you're our sister, Prim!"

"Half-sister," she corrects from over Steffan's shoulder.

All at once, I hear stirring from my children's room upstairs. Great. Just great. Naptime is over. "Rye, go up there and keep them occupied!"

"Oh, but don't you want them to join our little family reunion?" Mrs. Mellark sneers. "Find out Mommy's little secret?"

I flip her the bird. "Rye..." I snarl. "Whatever you do, don't let them come downstairs!"

Rye dashes up the steps.

Suddenly, there is a knock at the back door. Oh, who is it now? Peeta answers it - and once he does, I wish he hadn't.

"Katniss, I..." Darius is standing on the back stoop, with a bouquet of roses in his hand. Peeta sees the flowers, and his eyes narrow dangerously.

"Darius, can you explain why you are asking after my wife?"

Darius visibly gulps. No answer.

"I'll ask you again: why are you here to see my wife?"

Darius suddenly bolts down the alley and out of sight. Peeta looks like he wants to go after him, but his father stops him. I bury my face in my hands. For her part, Mrs. Mellark starts cackling like the witch that she is.

"What wonders never cease! Yet another affair in this family! Another slut! Like mother, like daughter!" she sneers at Mother and me. Then, she gets another thought: "But what do you expect, with an old drunk for a father, hmmmmm? I know some Peacekeepers who would just love to hear this story!"

"Paula, SHUT UP!" the roar comes from Steffan, and it must be the first time the Baker has ever stood up to his wife, for she stares at him in disbelief. "You drag Haymitch into this, you die at my hands. You understand me? I'll save the Peacekeepers the trouble - Lord knows you should have been shot by them long ago!"

I am not sure what the Baker means by this statement, though I wager child abuse probably has something to do with it. Paula splutters like a fish before closing her mouth.

I turn away to see Peeta sending me a look of stone. He sighs heavily. "Any explanation at all?"

I hang my head. "No. No excuses, either."

"You're damn right _'No excuses, either,'_ " he hisses through clenched teeth. "Besides the fact that we are distant half-siblings, apparently. I think that counts as incest, wouldn't you say?"

I glance up, horrified and sickened. With Primrose's connection, I hadn't thought of that. "Distantly! You and I have two separate sets of parents..."

"Yeah, but Primrose is half sister to both of us; you two share the same mom, she and I share the same dad! Somehow... I don't know how... we're related. And now I discover you've been unfaithful! Katniss... I want a divorce."

I burst into tears, even as I nod. Ruined. I have ruined everything! Everything I had!

* * *

Peeta and I quietly sign the divorce application papers. I move my things out of the bakery, and take up residence in my mother's old house in the Seam. Mother and Prim offered to come with me, and Paula encouraged the idea, but Steffan would have none of it, citing Prim as family, and Lillian by extension.

Prim. Thanks to the Mellark blood in her veins, she gets to stay, but I don't. Perhaps it's for the best. I've brought Peeta enough pain.

A few weeks later, I begin to feel strange nausea, throwing up constantly. Oh no... for a moment, I wonder if it's Peeta's, but that can't be; we have not had sex in a month or two, at least. Before the affair. That leaves...

Darius. Once again, I have been impregnated by a Peacekeeper. Given the circumstances in which we came together, I feel sick. But what's done is done. Even if two people couple illicitly, God can still bless the union with a baby. The breaking of marital vows does not matter to Him.

I take Darius into the woods one day. Sitting by my father's hunting cabin, I tell him that I am carrying his baby. His eyes fill with tears. He drops to one knee, and pulls out a ring.

"Will you marry me?"

I pause, staring at the golden band. I don't deserve this. I don't deserve happiness after everything I've done. But our baby does. I can't just abort away my problem this time. Our baby deserves two parents.

So I slip the ring on my finger and gently kiss Darius. "OK," I whisper quietly.

* * *

I stand on the stoop of the Victor's mansion for a good five minutes. For the second time in my life, I am clothed in my mother's wedding dress. _My_ wedding dress. My marriage to Darius will occur late that afternoon. This morning, however, I some last business to attend to...

Gathering the last of my courage, I knock. After a moment, _he_ answers the door. His hair is a mess, but otherwise he is clothed decently - ripped jeans, and a burgundy puffer coat.

I stare at him for a moment. Once again, I try to wrap my head around the fact that Haymitch Abernathy - Victor of the 50th Hunger Games, the only living Victor from District 12, the richest man in Twelve, and the biggest drunk I've ever known - is my father.

"I know who you are. And more importantly, you know who _I_ am. Don't you?"

Haymitch stares at me, taking in my wedding dress. Finally, he stands aside. "I wondered if this day would ever come."

I step inside. His mansion is still as messy as ever - bottles littering the floor, the one trash bin in the kitchen overflowing.

"It's true, you know. I am... I am your father."

I turn back to face him, to stare at him. Hearing his admittance makes me realize - and it hits me hard - what a bad father he's been. "Some father," I lash out at him. "Prim and I nearly starved to death when our dad was killed in the mines."

Haymitch hangs his head in shame. "I was drinking a lot at that time. I always wanted to do more to help. The best I could manage was to leave a basket of food by your door. You were still little - maybe twelve."

I actually remember that. Someone had left a basket of fruit and breads and cheeses in the middle of the night one autumn. I had always wondered who it was. "That was you?"

He nods heavily. "Katniss, you have to understand I could not do anything more beyond that. It would have looked suspicious to the Peacekeepers that a Victor was favoring a dead miner's family. I may have never been there, but _everything_ I _ever_ did was to protect _you_." I glance up when I hear the intensity in his last phrase, and am floored to see tears streaming down his face. " At a certain point, I was always ready to face the consequences - to protect what was left of my family. I lost my whole family after I came home from the Games, Katniss. My mother. My brother. My girl. When your mom came to me that night, I was drunk. I didn't know what I was doing. When I found out she was carrying you, I went into a tailspin. Shut up here, day and night. I tried to withdraw from alcohol, but I kept suffering from symptoms. It scared the people in Town; the Peacekeepers showed up one time. And then, I realized: you were my one chance to leave a legacy that actually _meant_ something! Through you, I could carry on the Abernathy line - and those pompous retards like Snow would never be the wiser! If the Capitol knew I had fathered a child, they would have used you against me, to get to me! You would have been Reaped for the arena, guaranteed - children of Victors are very popular for that. And I was NOT about to let that happen. Even if I was willing to give up everything else - my health, my humanity, my last shred of dignity - I could _never_ give up... my daughter."

He turns away, resting his hands on the kitchen table, staring into the wood. "I'm a murderer, Katniss. There are things I've done in my life that I'm not proud of, that I will never live down. 47 other children _died_ \- some of them I _killed_ \- so that I could live. Is that really a destiny, a legacy, I can hang my hat on? But that boy that went into the arena is gone - and this old drunken man is all that's left."

I stay silent throughout his entire monologue. Throughout it all, my heart melts. To think of what this man went through... to think that, in never claiming me as his own, he was actually protecting me, even showing his love for me the only way he could... My eyes fill with tears, and I smile. _Say it_ , I tell myself. _Say it, Katniss_.

"You're more than just an old drunk. You're not just a Victor. You're a legend. And... you're my father. And I'm proud to be your daughter."

Haymitch turns to me, shocked by my words. I burst into tears at last, and fling myself into his arms. "Daddy!"

Haymitch stands stock still for a moment, before finally putting his arms around me and returning my hug. I rest my head against his chest - still remarkably strong and muscular despite his years of bodily abuse from drinking. Haymitch - no, _Daddy_ \- rests his chin on the top of my head, stoically looking into the distance beyond. My wracking sobs soon turn into sighs of peace as I relax in his embrace.

"I've... I've always wanted to hold you like this," Daddy confesses. "When you were small and you would come into the Hob with your... with Estes, I just wanted to hug you! But I knew it was not my place."

"Did you... did you know... Estes?" I whimper.

"I knew both your parents. The Hawthornes and Mr. Mellark, too. Your mom was one of the nicest girls I've ever met; she always made the effort to talk to me. I was a bit of a lone wolf, even before the Games; didn't have too many real friends."

Another thought occurs to me. He lost his mom and brother after he won? That would make them my paternal grandmother and uncle.

I sniffle. "Do I... Do I look like anyone in your family?"

Daddy draws back so he can look me full in the face. "You're built like your Grandma Abernathy a little bit. Her arms were thin, like yours. The shape of your forehead is a lot like your Uncle Gregory's; my brother." he points to a picture frame on the wall. "That's him, right there."

I behold a picture of two boys: dark brown hair, Seam grey eyes for both. It must have been taken just before Haymitch was reaped for the arena, for I recognize the stocky youth that is featured in the rare re-airing of the Second Quarter Quell. My Uncle Gregory looks to be about twelve, which would make their age difference the same as mine and Prim's.

"You look beautiful." Haymitch nods as I turn back around to face him. "You marrying that Peacekeeper boy today?"

I nod. "I'm pregnant. With his baby."

He whistles heavily. "Not exactly pleased with how that turned out. I know about the affair," he adds before I can explain. "If it had been up to me, I would have raised you better than that, and that's all I'm saying! Just my two cents, but you had it real good with Peeta; I've only ever wanted the best man for you."

I gasp as another memory surfaces in my consciousness. "Is that why you bid on me at the Hundred Days Union and then let Peeta...?"

He snorts. "Duh, sweetheart. Wasn't about to let that Drury motherfucker bed my daughter - _my daughter_!" he growls protectively, and it warms my heart. "Besides, I consider it a miracle that Peeta invited me to your toasting. Never thought I would see my own daughter getting married."

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about," I seize on the perfect segway. " You can see me get married again. I know you're not happy over how it is coming about, but... would you walk your own daughter down the aisle?"

Haymitch wipes his nose noisily on his sleeve. Tears cling to his scruffy beard. He clears his throat. "Ya hear that, Duke, old buddy? I'm giving my daughter away today!"

I follow his gaze over to another picture on the wall - that of a middle-aged man in a warrior stance, with a sword in his hand. Duke Vedaldi - the mentor who helped to save my father, his apprentice, from death. Victor of the 13th Hunger Games.

"Wait," and Haymitch is suddenly nervous. "What if people...?"

I smile gently and take his hand. "They know that you and I worked together to free Peeta from jail. Everyone will think you're an old friend of the family, doing a favor." I leave the part out about how all the Mellarks know of my true parentage. None of them will tell, and Steffan will make damn sure Paula won't. "Nobody has to know."

Haymitch nods. "All right, sweetheart. I gotta go change. Let's get you married! BUT -" and he wags a finger at me as he turns back. "If that Darius punk ever hurts you, so help me God I will kill him! I've killed before; I can kill again if it protects my baby girl!"

I smile, my eyes threatening to turn into a waterworks all over again. "Sure, Daddy."

* * *

The wedding ceremony is beautiful.

I am floored that my mother and Prim are even there, not to mention all my former in-laws. There is Simit and his younger twin sisters, Iris and Amaryllis, squirming in the pew. But the true shocker is seeing my ex-husband there, calming our children. What's more, Peeta stays through the entire thing, even through when Darius and I are declared husband and wife and kiss.

Nobody seems bothered that Haymitch is the one to give me away. I could see the knowing looks in the Mellarks' eyes, but they keep the secret to themselves. In fact, my biological father proves to be quite the entertainment at the toasting and reception, telling stories of his youth - before the Games, before the arena. He looks the happiest I have seen him in years.

"Having a great time, sweetheart!" he chuckles when I pass by.

I whisper in his ear. "Just wait until you get to play with all your grandbabies!"

I look around for my sister, but I can't find her; Leven informs me that she and her boyfriend Rory Hawthorne took my kids home to the bakery for the night. I smile to myself. The two of them will be great parents themselves one day...

From across the room, I can see my... _ex_ -husband slipping towards the door to leave. I race after him.

"Wait!"

He turns around, surprised. "Katniss."

I want to hug him, but pull up short. Instead, I say, "Thank You. For staying for this."

Peeta just nods. "You would have done the same for me."

"But I would never have needed to," I express. "You would never have betrayed me - _never_!" I begin to cry. "Peeta, I'm... I'm so sorry I put you through all this! I... I will work for your forgiveness, even if it takes the rest of my life..."

Peeta cups his face in my hands, brushing my tears away with his thumb. "Ssssssshhhhhhhh... and you will get that forgiveness someday. For now... you have my blessing. And I have ten years of marriage and memories, three beautiful children by you. And we're still friends. Let's part as that."

Before I can stop myself, I kiss his lips. He does not refuse me. For us, this is a kiss goodbye. This kiss is the last gift I can leave him with. We break apart gently. Peeta's smile tells me he understands all the thoughts I could otherwise not express.

"Goodbye," he murmurs. He turns to leave.

"Peeta!"

He turns. I smile softly. I whisper, "I love you."

He nods. "I know."

* * *

 **A/N: And that's THE END, folks! I knew I said I would hold off, but I managed to find some time. Besides, I wanted this story put to bed! Thanks for reading! I will leave you all with - what else? - a musical theatre quote:**

 **"She's imperfect, but she tires. She is good, but she lies. She is hard on herself. She is broken and won't ask for help. She is messy, but she's kind. She is lonely, most of the time. She is all of this mixed up and baked in a beautiful pie. She is gone, but she used to be mine. / It's not what I asked for. Sometimes life just slips in through a back door, and carves out a person who makes you believe it's all true. And now I've got you. You're not what I asked for. If I'm honest, I know I would give it all back for a chance to start over, and rewrite an ending or two - for the girl that I knew." ~ Sara Bareilles, _Waitress_**


End file.
